Make Me (Broke and Beautiful #3)(47)

Refusing to dim the wattage of her smile, Abby fairly danced out of the cabana and speed-walked along the beach, ascending the staircase like she had springs on her feet. She would have to be quiet in the house. Her friends were no doubt still asleep, preparing to wake up with hangovers in a couple hours. A large part of her was glad she’d have a chance to talk with Russell before seeing Honey or Roxy again. They would no doubt have questions, and she couldn’t wait to have answers, for once.

She reached the gate at the estate’s edge, swung it open and stepped onto the paved driveway, but drew up short when she saw Mitchell, leaning against the trunk of his car. The towel around her suddenly felt flimsy, transparent. There was nothing sexual about the way he perused her, only businesslike. Practical. But it didn’t make her feel any less exposed.

“What are you still doing here?” She was pleased at the strength in her voice, despite the awkward situation. “Did I miss a signature page?”

When he remained tight-lipped, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Finally, his lips lifted into a smile that didn’t go near his eyes. “Car trouble, actually. The repair company just left. I was about to head back to Manhattan.”

She shook her head, eyeing the brand-spanking-new Mercedes. “Car trouble.” Her fingers curled into the top of the towel, grateful it covered her past the knee. “Did you sleep in your car?”

“Yes.” He sauntered toward her. “I had a funny feeling your friends weren’t going to let me into the house.”

“You’re probably right.” A ditch formed in her stomach when Mitchell’s attention caught on her wrists. “I’m going to head in now.”

That creepy smile of his stayed in place as he nodded. “That’s probably a good idea.” He inclined his head. “We’ll keep this between you and me. No need to worry your mother, right?”

A sour taste permeated Abby’s mouth. She wanted to curse him straight to hell, but getting into the house was the more desirable outcome. A back-and-forth between them would prevent that. God, she hated that he’d ruined her morning. She just wanted to forget this encounter had ever happened and get back down to the beach. “Thanks, Mitchell,” she muttered, skirting past him toward the house.

She waited just inside the front door until she heard his car pull away before tiptoeing up the stairs.

RUSSELL SHOT FORWARD in a panic, searching the cabana with frantic eyes. He shouldn’t be by himself. Abby’s sweet, warm body had been tucked up against him all night. He knew that because he’d woken up several times, convinced he’d been dreaming. But no. No, she’d been there, sighing in her sleep, letting him smell her hair, run hands up and down her thighs, shoulders, and belly. It had been the best night of his twenty-seven years, and he had not goddamn imagined it.

When he spied her bathing suit on the ground, he pressed two fingers against his forehead and breathed. Where had she gone? Why hadn’t she woken him up? Didn’t she know how he’d react to her disappearing?

Calm down and go find her. This fear that threatened wasn’t just a product of his panic. Abby hadn’t been hurt last night. If she had, could she have slept beside him so trusting and peaceful? The memory of her feet tucked between his calves sent warmth soaring into his chest, saving it from freezing into a block of ice. Okay. As soon as he saw her, kissed her forehead, everything would be fine. They would talk about everything. There was no room for secrets when he felt so close to her. She’d set his fears to rest about his physical urges, but the money issue would be no different. And he would believe her when she inevitably told him their future was theirs to decide because she believed in him. She’d trusted him with her body, and he’d beg that she do the same with her heart.

Crazy how one night could change everything. But it had. A clarity had stormed into his consciousness, wrought by his connection to Abby. Nothing was insurmountable as long as they could make each other feel as alive as they’d been last night. He’d live his life to make that happen.

Russell whipped the discarded board shorts off the ground, gained his feet, and pulled them on, halfway out of the cabana before he’d fully tied them. He saw the Yankees shirt, crumpled in the sand and decided to leave it there, liking the reminder of what had ultimately brought them together staying right where it was. When he reached the top of the staircase, his mind was already on what he’d make Abby for breakfast. She liked sweet stuff, like French toast—

“Mr. Hart.”

Russell came to a halt on the road, so immersed in thoughts of Abby, it took him a moment to place the man, standing inside the door of his running Mercedes. Mitchell, the lawyer. What the hell was he still doing here?

He must have asked the question out loud because the guy smirked. “You know why the Sullivan family pays me so well?” He drummed his fingers on the car’s roof. “I make sure problems don’t present themselves. And when they do, I make them go away. I’m really f*cking good at it, too.”

Showing no outward reaction, Russell couldn’t help being surprised at the expletive coming from the polished lawyer. Or maybe he shouldn’t be surprised at all. “Is there a reason you think I give a shit?”

“There’s a good reason for everything I say and do.”

Russell almost looked up, positive he would see an axe materialize in the air. Intuition was like spikes flowing through his veins. He glanced over Mitchell’s shoulder toward the house, praying he’d see Abby, but there was no one. Jesus, where had she gone? “If what you have to say is so important, get to it.”