Ruthless Rival (Cruel Castaways #1)(55)

Though ethically, my speaking to the defendant’s daughter was unorthodox at best and a dumpster fire at worse.

She arched an eyebrow. “I don’t?”

I shook my head. “He removed all mentions of your company from his websites a couple days after I visited your office. At your request, I assumed.”

Arya’s thickly fringed eyes flared. Obviously, my assumption had been wrong. She shot up to her feet, knocking her coffee over. Brown liquid spilled over the table and floor. She righted the cup with shaky hands. “Have a nice evening, Mr. Miller.”

She slapped the door open, running off to the street. I grabbed my briefcase and followed her, recognizing how goddamn thoughtless I was. At this point, I was begging to get in trouble. Judge Lopez would have every right to dismiss me from the case if he found out what I was doing.

History repeats itself.

“Arya, stop.” I shouldered past the Manhattan evening crowd. Rain came down in sheets on both of us, weighing her crazy hair down. She picked up her pace. She was running. From me. And I was chasing her.

My legs moved faster.

“Arya!” I barked. I didn’t even know what I wanted to say to her. I just knew I wanted to get the last word in. The rain beat down on my face. She halted at an intersection, at a red light. Trapped, she turned around, her posture guarded, like she was ready to pounce. Her green eyes danced in their sockets.

“What? What do you want from me, Christian?”

Everything, and nothing at all.

Your tears, your apologies, your regret, and your body.

Most of all, I want you to remember. What we used to be. And what we can never be anymore.

I ran a hand over my soaked hair. “Why did you stop coming to the pool?”

She threw her head back and laughed. She was so beautiful I wanted to strangle myself for taking the case. For not letting Conrad Roth get nailed by someone else while I conducted a sordid affair with his daughter. Full of naked weekends in exotic places, champagne, and kinky sex.

She grumbled. “I wanted to get some dirt on you. Then I . . .” She trailed off, stopping herself at the last minute, not wanting to complete the sentence. “Then I realized you are not the real villain in the story,” she finished quietly.

“I’m not.” But the words felt funky in my mouth, because in some ways, I was. Neither of us gave a rat’s ass about the rain pounding on our faces as we stood in the middle of the street. Her scent, of peaches and sugar and Arya, amplified through the rain. The light turned green behind her back. I stepped closer, my fingers twitching to cup her cheek. “Cut your losses. Turn your back on your father like he turned his back on you. Have dinner with me.”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. Raindrops flew from her hair. Suddenly, we were back to being fourteen. I glued my forehead to hers, breathing her in. Shockingly, she didn’t push me away. Our hair was plastered together, our noses touching. Her heart pounded against mine. I wanted to do things I had no business thinking about.

“God.” She curled her fists, pressing them against my chest. “I want this to stop.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

I was, at least in that moment. It was a moment of pure, simple old Nicky, with his stupid weakness for this girl.

“I feel so lost.” She exhaled.

“You’ll find yourself, soon enough. When the trial ends. When the dust settles.”

“Is fucking a Roth a longtime dream of yours?” Her lips moved so close to mine I could taste them.

“Not generally, no. But one in particular, yes. It’s on my bucket list.”

“And do you always achieve what’s on your bucket list?” Lips against lips. Skin against skin.

“Most times,” I admitted.

“Well, you’re not getting me.”

“You’re already halfway mine.”

Our bodies were flush together, our clothes soaking wet, but she didn’t cower. She didn’t step back. I remembered the twelve-year-old girl who wouldn’t let me win one stupid argument while we hung out at the cemetery. That girl was still there.

“Wanna bet?” Drops of water hung from her eyelashes, and she’d never looked more beautiful, more destructive, more real.

“Sure.” I spoke into her mouth. “Let’s make it interesting. If we have sex, you are paying me for all the dinners I’m going to take you to retroactively.”

Someone pushed past us, almost knocking Arya into the street on their quest to find a dry spot. I pulled her by the waist into me, back to safety. Our gazes didn’t break.

“How chivalrous of you. And if I win and we don’t sleep together, you are going to answer all of my questions about my father’s case.”

“I can’t do that.”

“After it’s over,” she clarified. “Which is also the timeline for this bet.”

I tucked wet tresses of hair behind her ears. “Within reason, and with my attorney-client-confidentiality agreement in mind, you have a deal.”

“How long will the trial last for?” she asked. I was mesmerized by her lips. How wet they were. The way they pouted around different vowels as she spoke.

“Four weeks. Five, if your father’s legal team gets its head out of their asses and shows up, which frankly seems unlikely.”