Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(56)

“Both.” We both seem to adjust to the plane taking to the air, and then James asks, “Want to see one where I ended up with a broken wrist?”

“God no!” I gasp. He’s already searching through his videos.

“Let loose. Have some fun, Elizabeth.”

“I have fun. Safe fun. You’re crazy, James.” I peer at the screen. I’m partly wanting to watch only because he seems to want to show me—and I’m partly dreading it.

I can’t pretend that I don’t love seeing videos that nobody but him and Charlie have seen.

I can’t pretend that it’s not crazy exciting that this guy fears nothing, won’t hesitate to take a bet.

I’m not sure he even took these bets for the money.

James likes a challenge. And I wonder if he slowly works past every obstacle in his way and goes for what he wants—just like he went after me.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you looked handsome with that beard.”

He’s wearing shorts that display his muscular legs in the video. A soft-looking T-shirt with a Skid Row logo. His scruffy beard looking all manly and bearlike. His blue eyes twinkling wickedly.

James was dared to leap off the third floor of a building and into the pool.

“I can’t watch.” I’m breathless as I watch him head to the railing of a third-floor balcony.

“Jimmy . . .” Charlie sounds concerned. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

James grins at the camera. “Of course it’s a good idea. A thousand dollars is always a good idea.” He’s climbing the balcony rail. But when he glances at Charlie, he loses his balance and slips onto the other side of the rail. His arm flies out. And he grabs onto the rail at an awkward angle. There’s an odd snapping sound, and he slides off the ledge, and suddenly all hell breaks loose. Charlie runs to the ledge, yelling.

“JIMMY!”

Charlie peers over the balcony, where James is crashed among the bushes down by the side of the pool.

“Fuck. I just broke my damn wrist,” he tells Charlie as he struggles to sit up, a shit ton of branches crunching beneath him.

“Least it’s not your damn head!” Charlie sounds on the verge of tears when the video turns off.

I shake my head.

“What? No laughing?”

“Why would I laugh? That’s not funny!” I cry.

“It was. Kind of funny. Admit it, Lizzy.”

“No, it’s not funny.”

“The funny thing was that my doctor’s bills were way more than a thousand dollars.”

He chuckles softly, the sound rough and low, distracting. As is his big body, somehow pulling the space around him like a magnet. Including me.

Shouldn’t you be bracing yourself, Lizzy?

He tucks his phone away. “Oh, come on. I’m all right now.”

There’s a hot ache, growing and growing inside me. There’s concern there. Yearning. Need. Caring. “Something could have happened to you! Have you ever wondered what Charlie would do without you?”

James smiles down at me, his chest so close that its warmth teases and taunts me.

When he studies me for a moment and notices the concern on my face, his smile fades. His voice drops as he glances at my mouth. “But see . . . that’s the thing. Nothing happens to me. Ever. Not anything that I can’t recover from.”

“James . . .” I shake my head, nervously licking my lips under his intent gaze. “Do you have survivor’s guilt?” I ask.

I’m not smiling anymore.

“No. Survivor’s anger, maybe. But the last thing I wanted to teach Charlie was to be too afraid to live. Shit happens. You don’t survive this life. You live it. You take risks, and you show people who you are and what you stand for, and if they don’t like it, fuck ’em. You make every day mean something. If you’re just surviving, what the hell good is it?”

James

Lizzy’s worried I’m a loose cannon. I’m not. I’ve had a healthy outlet for my anger. I’ve moved on. I’m good—and I’ll be even better once Charlie feels good about himself and gets into a better school. But right now, all I want is for Elizabeth to relax and let her hair down. In every sense of the phrase.

Difficult, considering her suitcase hasn’t shown up.

I’ve been hounding the baggage claim carousel for half an hour, and nothing’s coming out. The rest of our flight companions have already left.

Lizzy’s luggage is still a no-show.

“Until tomorrow?” Lizzy asks the attendant behind the airline counter.

“Yes, ma’am, we’re sorry; it seems to have remained in Atlanta.”

“I really need that suitcase.” Lizzy rubs her temples, groaning.

After fifteen minutes rechecking, I give her the hotel address for them to send it when it arrives. “Thanks. We’ll keep an eye out for it,” I tell the attendant.

Lizzy groans as she lets me usher her away. “I don’t know if I’ll survive without my face creams. I have nothing to wear, and I have a dinner scheduled with some really big clients.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

I know this shit is important to Lizzy.

But I have an idea.

And I hate wasting time.