He already gave her his number? What the f—
He turns to me, all smug and arrogant. “I guess we’d better be on our way then, right, mate?”
He gives my shoulder a friendly slap as he passes. The thing is, it’s a little on the firm side. Makes me want to rip his arm off and beat the shit out of him with it.
I clench my jaw against the urge. Instead of acknowledging Gavin, however, I walk to Marissa. Looking down into her face, I raise my hands to cup her cheeks and bend toward her.
I didn’t intend for the kiss to be a chaste, standard good-bye kiss, but I didn’t intend for it to be so . . . stimulating, either. It’s like we’re combustible, like we have one default setting between us—fire.
Her lips are enough to make me ache in all the right places. The pain in the ass, however, is that I can’t do anything about it. Instead of carrying Marissa back to her bedroom and doing depraved things to her, I’ve gotta escort this ballsy bastard back to Dual.
When I lift my head, I’m surprised to see that Marissa looks angry rather than turned on like I am. Her eyes fume for a few seconds before she puts her hands on my shoulders and rises to her tiptoes to whisper in my ear. Her words leave me in no doubt as to why she’s mad.
“If you ever kiss me like that again just to make a point, I’ll slap the taste right out of your mouth. I don’t care who’s watching.”
When she leans away, she’s smiling politely, but her eyes are like sparkling firecrackers. If anything, I’m even more turned on.
I can’t help but grin.
I’ll be damned. She can be feisty.
“Fair enough,” I say before turning back to Gavin. I give him a broad, cold smile.
I hope that smug prick is squirming on the inside.
EIGHTEEN
Marissa
I’ve cleaned the kitchen, polished the floors, scrubbed my bathroom, had a shower, and given myself a pedicure. As I sit on the edge of my bed, surveying my bedroom, I realize there’s absolutely nothing I can do to keep my mind off Nash. I knew he would get under my skin; it happened almost immediately. There’s something about him that’s so familiar, beyond his being the twin of a guy I used to date. It pulls me in like a physical tie.
It helps that I was primed to latch onto someone like him. I wanted to get lost in something far from the normal, far from what’s expected in my life. I needed it, needed him. Still do. But I didn’t expect it to be this . . . intense.
Every few minutes, my mind will stray back to last night, to his hands and his lips, to his body and his words. I get all hot and bothered within seconds. And that’s aside from the sweat I broke while cleaning.
It’s not such a bad thing, my attraction to him. It’s the emotional distance I feel from him that’s bugging me. I suspected he’d be in and out of my life like a flash of lightning—bright and electric and then gone without a trace—but on some level I must’ve expected him to be a little more open with me, a little more . . . feeling. But it’s like the only thing he feels is my physical presence, my body. And, of course, anger. Lots and lots of anger. It’s always there, hovering just beneath the surface. It’s like nothing is stronger than that, no feeling or person or emotion.
I think he loses himself in me much the same way I lose myself in him, only his is much more temporary and transient. As soon as his mind strays from our physical connection, from desire, he’s right back in his miserable past and his equally miserable present.
What bothers me most is that I’m starting to suspect there’s nothing I can do about it. No way I can change it, no way to make a dent in his life and his heart the way I think he’ll be making one in mine.
Hearts don’t often break even. One person is usually more hurt while the other is more relieved. But in this instance, there is likely to be devastation on one side. And it’s likely to be me. Yet here I am, thinking about him, anxiously anticipating the next time I’ll see him or hear from him.
You’re like a schoolgirl with one horrific crush.
Or maybe a glutton for punishment.
There are a thousand reasons I should stay away from him and only one that I shouldn’t. But that one reason is powerful enough to keep me right here, in the thick of things.
He’s the forbidden fruit. And I’m tempted beyond what I can resist.
With a growl of frustration, I walk to my closet to put on some presentable work clothes. I’ve got to get out of the house. But I don’t want to go to work. I figure a trip to the library will be both distracting and productive. At least I can continue trying to build a case, a case I know little about against people I know nearly nothing about.
* * *
Three and a half frustrating hours later, I’m driving home, considering calling one of my law professors for some guidance. What gives me pause is that it would be utterly humiliating to admit that I knew where my career was going because I was a spoiled little rich girl with a future set in stone, one that had nothing to do with criminal law. I felt zero need to retain what I’d learned in several of my classes.
Only now I need it. And so do the people I care about. I want justice not only for myself, but for Nash and Olivia. And a tiny bit for Cash, I guess. He did play a big part in rescuing me.
I still have mixed feelings about him for the most part. What I like least about him is that he reminds me of someone I no longer want to be, of someone I’d rather not ever think about again. But when I see him, that’s what I’m reminded of—the old me. And I don’t like it.
Every thought in my head is banished to a back corner as I approach the condo door. I haven’t walked through the front door by myself since the night someone was waiting on the other side of it. And even though my brain tells me I’m being ridiculous, that I wasn’t even the one they wanted that time and that there’s no reason for them to grab me again after they let me go, my muscles freeze. I’m stuck in a terrified stare, on the sidewalk, facing my front door, with no one around to help me.
The muted bleep from my phone sounds from deep inside my purse. I force my muscles into action, reaching with one shaking hand into my bag to retrieve my phone. I slide a trembling finger over the button at the bottom of the rectangle to light up the screen.
It’s a text. Three letters. Two words. One sentiment. Something so simple. Yet it changes everything.
U ok?
It’s Nash.
There’s nothing in the message to identify who it is. But I know. Deep down in my soul, I know who it is. And he might as well be behind me, standing with me, an ever-protective shadow. The effect is that profound.