Playing Dirty (Risky Business, #2)(24)

“My father is a good businessman,” I said staunchly. “And just because they have a file doesn’t mean he’s done anything wrong. Obviously, if he had, they’d have arrested him. If anything, this only proves that he’s an honest man because how could a criminal undergo such scrutiny without being arrested for something?”

I wasn’t an idiot. My father had paid an army of lawyers over the years to keep the feds off his back. It seemed if you were Italian, lived in Chicago, and ran a very profitable liquor distribution company, you must be doing something illegal.

I wanted to talk about the other thing he’d said after dinner. The whole in love part. Was that really how he felt? Or had he just said that in the heat of the moment? I was dying to ask, but didn’t want to be the one to bring it up.

“Let’s say you’re right,” Ryker said. “Let’s say your father is all aboveboard—”

“Because he is,” I interjected.

“Fine, let’s say he is. There’s still the whole part about you … your family …”

I waited as he hesitated.

“Christ, Sage,” he finally blurted. “You’re worth millions.”

“I’m not,” I corrected him. “My father is.”

“Really,” he said dryly. “And who would be your parents’ heir?”

My face heated and I was glad for the semi-darkness. “So what?” I asked, avoiding stating the obvious answer. “So what if my parents have money? What does that have to do with us? Most men like the idea of a wealthy wi—girlfriend.” I stopped myself from saying wife just in time. Yeah, really didn’t want to go there.

“Sage …” He broke off, shoving a hand through his hair and muttering, “God, how can I explain.” When he met my eyes again, he seemed determined. “I was brought up dirt poor. Most of the time we barely had enough to eat, and what we did have was provided for by food stamps. I was the kid on the free lunch program at school.”

“You’ve told me that,” I said. “I still don’t see why it makes a difference. You’re an adult now, you have a steady job. It’s not like being poor growing up was some kind of disease that tainted you.”

“Of course you don’t see why it makes a difference, because you’ve never been poor.”

I pressed my lips together, staring at him. “So you’re going to break up with me because I’m not poor?”

“I didn’t say that, but I can’t pretend that us being from opposite sides of the socio-economic scale doesn’t change things, because it does,” he insisted. “I’m a cop, and cops don’t make shit for a living.”

“I see,” I said, though really I didn’t. I didn’t care if he was poor growing up or how much money he made now. “Listen, I’m not a gold digger. I don’t care what kind of money you make. It’s more important to me that you like your job, that you’re good at your job, than what kind of salary it pays.”

His lips twisted. “You say that now, and it sounds all nice and romantic and idealistic. But life’s not like that. And you’d feel differently down the road.”

I stiffened. “So … what? Is that it? Before, when you thought I was just a secretary with well-off parents it was fine, but now that you know my father’s a millionaire, now it’s over?”

“Listen, today’s been shitty. Let’s get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” He pushed off the counter and wrapped an arm around my waist, but I dug in my heels.

“So were you lying?” I persisted, refusing to be moved from where I stood. “You said you were in love with me. Was that bullshit?” I wanted to know. That had been such an amazing thing to say, something no one had ever said to me before, and I had to know if he’d been telling me the truth.

Ryker’s blue gaze held me captive as he reached to cup my cheek in his hand. “It wasn’t bullshit,” he said at last. His palm was calloused and warm against my cheek. Light from the fixture overhead glinted off the metal of his dog tags. The long-sleeved Henley he wore stretched across his chest and shoulders.

He kissed me, a sweet press of his lips against mine that seemed to say more about how he was feeling than anything else. I kissed him back, glad he hadn’t asked me for a declaration in return. I wasn’t ready to say it. Not yet.

The sweet kiss quickly turned into more, his tongue sliding against mine in a wet heat that went right through me. His hands moved to the hem of my tank and he dragged it up over my head, separating us. I tugged at his shirt, too, but he had to help me.

I felt like I couldn’t get to him fast enough and when the bare skin of his chest met mine, it was a sweet relief. He was kissing me again, his lips trailing down my jaw, then his hands circled my hips and he lifted me.

Surprised, I clutched at his shoulders as he sat me on the counter and stepped between my legs. I buried my fingers in his hair as his mouth fastened over my breast. The heat that had been building fanned into flame and I moaned.

His mouth caught the sound, his tongue teasing mine. My nipples rubbed against his chest, creating a delicious friction, so I did it again. I could tell he liked it as much as me, because his kisses grew deeper and more demanding. He was hard inside his jeans, pressing against the core of me.