Part 14 (1/2)

”Hailey,” he says as I turn. And later, I'll wonder why he doesn't just let me go. No...later, I'll wonder why he doesn't haul me into the shadows and kiss me until I'm begging for more, because in hindsight, it's what we both want.

But he just shakes his head. ”Don't come to the dedication if you don't want to.”

I hold his gaze, letting him singe me. Just a little. ”It's okay. I'll be there. It's the right thing to do.”

- - G.o.d.

I shake off the memory and pace across my living room. I'd shoved that conversation away, forgetting it under a pile of dislike and resentment, because when I went to the dedication and Cole wasn't there...I was p.i.s.sed. I'd felt tricked.

That was nothing.

Now it's so much worse. Now I've had him, in my body and heart and mind. And I still feel like everything between us is lopsided.

Cole has all the power. All the knowledge and control.

He could destroy me.

Because after everything that's happened, after walking away, all I want is another moment with that hot, burnt-amber gaze on me.

-six-.

Cole.

Our work is done. Tonight the Metropolitan Police will be making arrests-good ones that will stick, with loads of legitimate, legally obtained evidence-in the murder of Anabeth Fletcher.

A man named Andre Beauchamp was the money. Shadowy money, and Wilson and I don't think the buck stopped with him, but it's what we've got for now. Two hired men led us to him, and all three were arrested.

I'm glad.

I'm also f.u.c.king tired.

After a while, beating people up gets old.

Especially when the adrenaline rush can't be worked out with a good, hard f.u.c.k, which is exactly the wrong thought to have while I'm in the shower.

I tip my head back, letting the hot water hit the bruise forming on my jaw. That a.s.shole's head was made of f.u.c.king bricks.

Wincing, I grab the ice pack from the tile shelf and hold it in place as I turn and put my back under the steady stream.

My preferred therapy: hot, cold, and beer. I've already finished one bottle, and the next is sitting next to the other ice pack. I came into the shower fully prepared to stay here for a while.

But now I've thought of f.u.c.king, which makes me think of Hailey.

I should feel like an a.s.shole for taking her against my office door. I just want to do it again.

Too bad she's off-limits right now. It's better for her if she's insulated from this bulls.h.i.+t, although I've wanted to go to her, every single night.

I take my c.o.c.k in hand, already throbbing at the memory of sliding into her without any barriers.

That was f.u.c.ked up, that I didn't even think about a condom. I'd been so sure she was going to tell me stop, and when she didn't, I lost my mind. Standard operating procedure for me and the delicious Ms. Reid.

It's all her soft curves and endless sweet skin. No, it was the thought of never having her again. I needed to claim her, to mark her as mine. It wasn't enough to say it. To see in her eyes that she'd heard me. Mine.

When this is all over-when I've fulfilled my promise to Jason, and closed the case that made me take on Morgan Reid as a client in the first place-I'm taking Hailey away from all of this. Finding that private beach we can surf and f.u.c.k and laugh on. Not a care in this world except for each other.

Hailey in a bikini. In nothing at all, just the world's softest sand pressed to her hips and b.r.e.a.s.t.s and a.s.s. I squeeze my eyes tight, holding on to that fantasy as my o.r.g.a.s.m builds. I'm squeezing my d.i.c.k hard enough it might hurt if I didn't need that tightness.

Laughing. Her modestly covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as she stumbles through the surf, me chasing her. Grabbing her and rolling together in the waves until I find my place between her legs. Hard against soft. Tough against sweet.

That's the part that turns me on the most about her. More than how s.e.xy she is, it's her f.u.c.king sweetness. I've never had anyone like Hailey in my life before. You don't have her now, a.s.shole. No, right now I've let her go, but I'm still watching her. Still aware of her, constantly.

She's alone right now, in the bed I want to be in more than I want my next breath. In the morning she'll get up and go to work. In a few days, she'll have her Vanity Fair interview, and I should be there with her, but I can't be.

One day, I'll be good enough for her. One day, I'll be able to be in the same room with her and not threaten the fragile goodness she's constructed around her.

I jerk myself more roughly now, so close to release. Regret morphs to something less-definable, leaving an angry edge on the usually simple feelsf.u.c.kinggood of masturbating. There's nothing simple about my fantasy of Hailey. Nothing easy or possible about getting the woman of my dreams alone, safe, and all mine on a beach in Hawaii. f.u.c.k, I can't even have her in an apartment in Was.h.i.+ngton for more than a few hours.

And even that was perfect. Hailey begging me for more. f.u.c.king her face. Spanking her p.u.s.s.y. f.u.c.k me. I need her. Need to spread her legs wide and feast on her wet, swollen c.u.n.t. Drive deep and blow my load inside her.

Fuuuuuck.

I fall forward, wincing as my palm slams against the shower wall, some of the cuts on my hand screaming in protest. With my other hand, I slow my strokes, milking my c.o.c.k as the last spurts fall to the drain below.

With fantasies like that, I need to stay as far away from Hailey Reid as I can get, for as long as I can.

We both know it won't be forever. I'm not that strong.

-seven-.

Hailey.

I didn't have any doubt that something would slam Cole and me back together.

I just a.s.sumed it would be another mistake. Another scandal in my family.

Not something even darker. Totally random. And utterly terrifying.

- - Two weeks after Cole was arrested, the Metropolitan Police Major Case unit executed a raid on a condo near The Hill and arrested two men for the murder of Anabeth Fletcher, and at the same time, a simultaneous warrant was being served in Virginia on a third man, whose name never made it to the papers.

I was dying to ask Wilson about it.

I didn't.

Not when he came over the next day to do my prep for the Vanity Fair interview, and not three days later when he showed up twenty minutes before the reporter in case I had any last minute questions.