Reveal (Wicked Ways #2)(31)

We say our goodbyes, and I pay him for his time before heaving a huge sigh of relief once he’s out the door.

I’m drawn to Lucy’s soft snores. To the need to see the one thing that centers me, because after tonight, I’m not sure what in the hell I’m supposed to feel.

A part of me wants to pick up the phone and call Ryker. Tell him what the senator just did, because I’m scared and unsettled, and Ryker is the only person I’ve ever known besides Samantha who has seemed to have my back.

The other part of me knows this—the senator being here, his sense of ownership over me—is all because of Ryker and what happened in the pool house.

Ryker is the one who did this to me. I was already a target, but Ryker’s actions made me a bull’s-eye in Carter Preston’s zero-sum game that holds so much collateral damage when it comes to my life that I’m terrified.

Number one being the sleeping little girl whose arms are wrapped around a stuffed animal all while a tiara still sits perfectly straight on her head.

So many things happened tonight—bad, then good, then overwhelming, and then ugly.

What good is blackmail material when the person is undeterred by it? Do I destroy him so that we both go down in flames together?

But was he as unaffected as his words stated? Or was the sudden change in him a tell?

I stare at Lucy with ghosts of my past humming around, trying to make sense of everything Carter said, and one thing stands out more than anything. Ryker is the only person I’ve ever told about James. He’s it. And now all of a sudden Carter knows the name and throws him in my face?

Did Ryker tell Carter? Was this another little secret divulged in the Hamptons that Ryker thought would have zero repercussions in his game when in fact it would have momentous ones if it fell into the wrong hands?

A simple phone call would allow me to ask the question and clear up any confusion. I pick up my cell, unblock Ryker’s number, and contemplate hitting send.

The problem is, I’m not quite sure I believe the answers I’m already getting about what happened that night, so who says I will believe what Ryker tells me this time?

Another high tonight being with Ryker followed by the ultimate low of right now.

He’s not good for you, Vaughn.

He’s not good for you, regardless of how he makes your heart feel.

In fact, maybe being with him is even more dangerous because of it.





CHAPTER TWELVE

Ryker

We need to talk at some point. About Saturday night. About us. About everything.

I stare at the text I sent Vaughn and pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration at her lack of response. She’s read it. I know she has. But fuck if she’s picking it up to text back.

We’re on day two here of radio silence. Two days where I’m left with the memory of how incredible her body felt, how she had that wounded look in her eyes, how it took everything I had to let her walk out, all while feeling how fucking cold her silence is.

“Mr. Lockhart?”

“Mmm?” I don’t even look toward the phone on my desk when Bella’s voice booms through it, because I’m completely distracted by Vaughn when I should be working.

“There’s a Ms. Sanders here to see you.”

Now that’s a way to get a man’s attention.

“Send her in.”

I’m already at the door to my office and opening it before I hear the click of Vaughn’s heels on the floor.

Office sex.

Maybe that’s what she’s here for.

But that thought flies painfully from my mind the minute I see her. She looks nervous. Her head may be held high and her shoulders square, but she looks at me only briefly before averting her eyes.

Fuck.

What now?

“Vaughn?”

To what do I owe this surprise?

What the hell is wrong?

God, you’re fucking gorgeous.

All three thoughts run through my mind, but none of them are voiced as I step forward and press a kiss to her lips in greeting. I’d lose myself in her right now if I could, but her hands pressing against my chest tell me that sure as hell isn’t going to be happening.

“Hi.” She offers a tight smile and then skirts around me and into my office.

She’s all business. This is not good.

I shut the door behind me and then take a deep breath as I turn around to face her. Her back is to me. She’s looking out the windows like I’m prone to do, but hell if I look like her. The pencil skirt is a charcoal gray, and it highlights every damn curve of that body of hers. Ones I’ve run my hands and mouth over. Ones I’m desperate for again.

Her pale-pink sweater is soft and off the shoulders, and her hair cascades in waves down her back.

I stare at her for a moment longer, partially because I’m enjoying the view and partially because I’m putting off hearing whatever it is that was so important she showed up at my office for.

“Vaughn?” I ask again. My oxfords on the floor moving toward her are the only other sound in my office.

She turns to face me, and her eyes tell me everything I’d feared. “I can’t do this again with you.”

“Do what again? Talk with me? Be with me? Do what with me?” I demand, my mood going from cautious to defiant in a matter of seconds.

“No matter what seems to happen between us . . .”