“I’m not sorry for what happened last night.” He skimmed his tongue over his teeth. “If I could do it again, I would’ve spent the rest of the night with my cock buried in you. Your body was made for me ... which given our circumstances, is a problem.”
Problem or not, I felt his hand on my leg, and I pressed my thighs together, trapping his fingers in place. “I’m not sorry either.” He squeezed his hand an inch higher, coming dangerously close to my center, and I sucked in a breath. “But you’re still angry with me—even after last night.”
“I am.”
“But you refuse to go to Margaret,” I whispered. “With all the information you have on me, you refuse to go to your mother.”
“I cared about your father and I care about you.“ Watching me closely, he turned the Viper down a narrow street. “I wish the only thing I wanted from you was what’s right here—” His fingers pumped my sex through my jeans, and moisture flooded my mouth. “—but sadly, it’s not.”
“How do you do it?” I murmured.
“What?”
Turning to the window, my breath fogged up the glass as I stared at the seaside rushing by. “I was angry—furious out of my goddamn mind—and then you came in and touched me, and all I could think about was you. I should still be flying off the handle right now, and all I want are your hands on my body. You make me want things I shouldn’t want.”
You’ve made me fall for you, I added silently.
“Looks like we have the same effect on each other, beautiful.” Several second passed, and he asked gently. “Why were you crying today?”
“Because someone I thought I knew hurt me.” In the window, I saw his reflection, feeling my chest twist at his ironic smirk. “I found out who ... made the call that sent me here.”
“And it was someone you knew?”
“The FBI is on to your mother,” I said, ignoring his question. I heard him shift toward me. “And they want me to help.”
He frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I trust you.” Saying that felt so messed up, but it was the truth. A horribly sad truth that hit me right where it hurt the most. “I trust you, Oliver.”
Focusing his light blue eyes straight ahead, he drove his Viper into one of the Venice Beach private lots and turned off the ignition. “You’ve got a lot of faith in me.”
“You’re the only person in my life besides Pen who hasn’t fucked me over yet.” When his eyebrows came together, I realized he had no idea who Pen was since she’d introduced herself by her middle name, and I hated myself for deceiving him over and over. “She’s my best friend.”
Unsnapping his seatbelt, he faced me, reaching up to tangle his hand in my blond hair. “I’m not going to tell you not to go after my mother.” His mouth inched closer to mind, catching my breath. “If she’s done everything you said, I—”
“She has,” I said firmly.
“Then I’m not going to tell you to back down.” Our noses skimmed. “Get your closure, Gemma.”
“But what about—”
Before I could continue, before I could ask him what would happen to him—to us—he stopped me with his lips. The contact was agonizing, a crashing of mouths that penetrated my mind and my body. I gripped the back of his neck, feeling his muscles tauten beneath my fingertips, and I invited him in.
Invited him to have all of me.
When he pulled away, his hands were still in my hair, and I refused to let go of him. “Get your closure,” he told me once more, his breath heavy, his blue eyes darkening. “Get your closure and take everything that belongs to you.”
But as we sat there mesmerized by each other, the knots twisting in the pit of my stomach told me that closure meant losing him completely.
*
When I walked through the doors at Emerson & Taylor Monday morning, greeting Carl at the security desk and trying not to stare too hard at the photo of Mom in the lobby, I knew my days as Lizzie Connelly were gradually coming to a close. I knew too much now—and the person who’d pushed me into this was also aware of everything. Now, it was only a matter of time.
And I was ready for that day to come.
As I finished up my lunch shortly after noon, a knock on my door interrupted me. I rolled my chair over to answer it, but it opened slowly, and my expression hardened when Stella tiptoed in.
“Can I help you?” I said through a tight smile.
Her shoulders quaked. “I wanted to come by and personally say I’m sorry, Lizzie.”
“I understand.” But of course I didn’t. Since Linc had refused to detail the extent of Stella’s involvement in this giant charade, I was left in the dark. “If you’ll excuse me, I have—”
My office phone rang. Grateful for the intrusion, I plucked it off the hook and held it to my ear. “Emerson & Taylor, Lizzie—”
“Ms. Connelly, I need you in my office right now,” Margaret snapped, hanging up immediately.
“Of course, I’m on my way right now,” I said to the dial tone. Standing up, I straightened the hem of my crewneck sweater. “Sorry, but we’ll have to do this later,” I told Stella, the irritation in my voice faltering.
Even though I didn’t know her exact role in Linc’s plans, I couldn’t be cruel to her. Not when there was a possibility he’d used her too.
“Email me if you want to speak.” She paused at the door, the regret overflowing on her features punching me in the stomach. “I really am sorry.”
I watched her walk away, inhaling and exhaling. Once I gathered my bearings, I marched into Margaret’s office to find her in the process of loading her briefcase, her motions jerky and quick.
Where the hell was she going?
“Clear out my schedule for the rest of the afternoon.” She didn’t look up to acknowledge me. “I had a change of plans and won’t be in the office until much later this evening.”
I wanted to know what changed, but I moved my head up and down. “I’ll do it right now.”
“Good enough.” Holding her briefcase tightly against her body, she flicked her blue eyes up to mine and pinched her lips. “Feel free to take the rest of the day off.”
“There’s nothing else you need me to do?”
She breezed past me gripping her purse and briefcase tightly. “No, there isn’t. Be here at nine thirty tomorrow, Ms. Connelly.”
*
I worried all the way home over whether or not I’d made a mistake telling Oliver that Margaret was being investigated. Pen wasn’t around when I stepped into my apartment, but she’d left a short note on the refrigerator.
Off doing some work for my boss back in Vegas at the L.A. branch (yeah, I know you’re surprised). I’ll be in late this evening, so let me know if you want me to bring dinner.
Going to my bedroom, I changed out of my office clothes, texting Oliver in the process.
What we talked about last night—that was private, right?
I was shrugging out of my pants and reaching for a pair of PINK sweats when he responded less than a minute later.
Easton is the only person who knows about you, but I would never share our private conversations with him. Is something wrong?
After I told him that everything was fine, he remained silent. For the next hour, I read over some of the files Pen had obtained on Finley Scott, searching for anything that might prove our suspicions right. Every few seconds, I glanced at my phone, hoping Oliver would message.
When a text finally did come through a couple hours later, I felt giddy as I checked it, but my excitement immediately dwindled when Linc’s name showed up on my screen. Apparently, now that he’d revealed himself, he had no issue messaging my Lizzie phone, which automatically set my teeth on edge.
Remember when you said you’d help? I’m ready for you now. Be at this address in an hour.