Reveal (Wicked Ways #2)(41)

“After school I’d have to come here and wait for him to finish up before going home. Most times he’d just put me in his car and have the driver take me, since he was too busy to give me the time of day. While I’d wait, some of the construction crew would show me a thing or two.” I can hear the reminiscence in his voice. I can also hear the silent animosity over having a father figure who was anything but.

“Did you ever use these skills you learned?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny . . .”

“Ah, the rebellious rich kid who liked walking on the wrong side of the tracks.”

“Something like that.” There’s a clink and then the sudden sound of the metal gate rolling up. Ryker holds his hand out to me. “Come on.”

I look over my shoulder and hesitate. “Can’t we get in trouble for this?”

Without warning, Ryker tugs on my hand so that I’m flush against him, pizza almost tipping in my other hand just as his mouth meets mine.

Good God, the man can kiss.

It’s my only thought as his tongue slips between my lips and reminds me of everything about him that I’ve missed. The warmth of his body. The taste of his kiss. The scrape of his stubble against my jaw. The hum of vibration deep in his throat.

“Trying not to get in trouble is part of the thrill.”





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Vaughn

The lights of Hoboken across the Hudson are laid out before us. Ryker and I are sitting on some kind of wooden chaise longue type of chair, the leftover pizza in a box on the chair next to us. Condos tower behind us with most of their lights off, the occupants fast asleep, but there is an occasional bout of laughter or domestic sound here and there.

And of course a siren wails or a horn honks every now and then, making me jump like one just did.

“You really are worried, aren’t you?” Ryker asks as his finger draws lazy lines up and down the length of my spine. I’m sitting up while he’s lying back, obviously more relaxed at this being-where-we-shouldn’t-be type of thing.

“Aren’t you worried? You’re the one who practices law for a living. What if we’re caught? What if they press charges? What if—”

His chuckle rumbles through the silence, and it takes everything I have not to shush him to be quieter. “Relax. I’m not worried about talking an officer or two into letting us off with a warning. Or offering a subtle bribe. Besides, what we’re doing is the least of their problems.”

“It’s ironic that I’m this straitlaced, isn’t it?” I laugh. “Most people would think it’d be the other way around—me the rule breaker and you the rule follower.”

“Seriously. How did I not know this about you? That you are so scared of getting in trouble.”

I glance back at him and give a resigned shrug. “Because if I get in trouble, the fallout can have dire consequences.”

“We’ll be fine. I promise you. But I have a feeling this need to follow rules and this fear of getting in trouble started way before now.”

“You don’t get it because you’re you.”

“What?” he says through a laugh. “That makes no sense.”

“Of course it doesn’t . . . but just like you breaking in here—how you don’t worry because you know a cop would see your expensive clothes and might know of you or your reputation and let you off with a warning—they’d never do that to me. People see me—a woman in the skimpy outfit at work or the person who runs Wicked Ways—and . . . and they assume what they want about me. Nothing I say or do can change their opinions.”

He leans forward and presses a kiss to the back of my neck, his lips moving against my skin when he speaks. “Fuck their opinions. I’m glad I get to see the woman no one else gets to see.” He pulls me back so his arm is around my shoulder and my head rests on his chest. He murmurs against my scalp, “Relax, Vaughn. We’re going to be just fine.”

His words soak in, and I know he means right now in our trespassing and also in the greater scheme of things.

I hope he’s right.

We sit in comfortable silence for a bit with the sounds of crickets and the trees rustling in the light breeze coming in off the river. This feels so normal. So right. It makes me afraid to leave this platform, because I don’t want that to change.

“When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

His question startles me and then makes me smile as the faint memories of my mom ghost through my mind. “A mom.”

“A mom?”

“Mmm. I wanted to be just like my mom. She was my world.”

“What was she like?”

“Vibrant. Fun. She always made you feel like you were the most special person in the room so that when she turned to pay attention to someone else, you were almost jealous over it.”

“Is it hard to remember her?” Another kiss to my head. A hand running up and down my arm.

“Yes. It’s been so long that I’m not sure if what I remember are truly memories or just ones I pieced together from pictures and created myself. But I remember her voice clear as day. How she used to sing silly songs to us when we were tucked in her bed. Her family was super formal, and then there was her—this wildflower among all the perfectly pruned roses.”