Текст книги "Busted"

Автор книги: Shiloh Walker

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“Stage mom?” She eyed him curiously.

Trey laughed. “Sorry. You’ve got normal moms—those who are just that . . . normal. Like our mom was. Even though Zach practically lived on set, and then later, Seb, and all of us were around it because of them, she made sure we had a normal life, or as normal as possible. Then you’ve got stage moms—the only thing that matters is the next part. Their child is the most important person on the set—even if it’s just a bit part and you’ve got Sean Connery acting next to them, that kid is everything and if makeup doesn’t kiss his ass, the world ends. We saw some crazy shit. Seb said he overheard this mom going after wardrobe because the kid ripped his jeans and they didn’t strip him onset to replace them.”

“That’s awful. I kinda feel bad for your brother,” she murmured, eying the angelic looking boy with new eyes.

“I don’t,” Trey said with relish.

“Why not?” she demanded, turning to look at him.

“Because Sebastian deserves it.”

“Does he ever,” Travis said as he came into the room.

She didn’t let herself stiffen as she glanced at him.

He settled in an armchair on the other side of the room. “Mom had to pop that kid’s bubble on a regular basis. Some people grow into their arrogance. Sebastian was born with it. And he was probably ten times worse than that kid and Mom was constantly reeling him in.”

“Yep.” Trey chuckled and the sound was more than a little diabolical. “Now he’s getting a taste of his own medicine. I bet it tastes really bad.”

“You are awful.” Shaking her head, she settled a little more comfortably against him and tried not to think about the fact that the other, quieter twin was sitting just a few feet away. He wasn’t looking at her directly, but she was all too aware of his gaze.

*   *   *

The side of the car was still warm from the heat of the day, although it was rapidly cooling down.

Not that she was cold.

Caught between the car and Trey’s body, she could barely think.

One hand tangled in the back of her shirt, the other spread on her neck while he used teeth and tongue to slowly destroy her sanity.

Moaning into his kiss, she clutched at his shoulders as the strength drained out of her. A dark, rough growl came out of him as she sagged back against the car and he followed, his weight pressing more firmly against her as he started to move, oh so slowly.

It was . . . devastating.

Her sex clenched and she could feel herself growing hotter, wetter in readiness. His cock was a heavy, thick brand and she rubbed herself against him. Half mad with the need, she found herself reaching for him, ready to tug his jeans open and shove her hand inside.

“You’re going to kill me,” he muttered, catching her wrist and drawing her hand back.

Belatedly, she remembered. Where they were. What she was doing.

Neeci was in the car, asleep.

In the house a few yards away, Clayton was in the same condition.

And Travis—

That was a bucket of cold water in her face. Curling her fingers into her hand, she tugged free and turned her head.

Staring out at the street, she breathed slowly. After a minute passed, she said, “You make me lose my mind, Barnes.”

“Same goes.” He cupped her cheek, guided her face back until they were looking at each other yet again. “What’s wrong? Where did you go?”

“I didn’t go anywhere.” She hooked her fingers through his belt loops and tugged him close, giving him a wicked smile as she arched against him. “Why would I want to do that anyway?”

He rubbed his finger across her lower lip. “You’ve been disappearing half the day.”

“No, I . . .” Ressa stopped, heaved out a sigh. “It’s nothing, Trey. It’s just . . . that complication stuff.”

Observant eyes studied her. “You sure that’s it? Nothing I said? Did?”

“No.” She rose up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. In case that wasn’t enough, she pressed her lips to his, said it again. “No.”

She eased away, but he didn’t let her go far. “Then what is it?”

She laid her cheek against his. “It’s just . . .” She blew out a breath. “Trey, I just have stuff in my head. It’s not you, I promise. It’s just . . . all that complication stuff we keep talking about. We should probably have that talk soon.”

Tension held him tight as he turned his face into her hair. A moment or two passed before he spoke again. “Yeah, maybe so. Because this sure as hell isn’t going to get any less intense on my end.”

Something that might have been fear, might have been delight, twined through her.

“So. We talk soon.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

“But I do. I need to get her to bed. We’re meeting Mama in the morning for breakfast. Besides, I don’t think you and I need to talk about spending the night with each other yet. At least not when there are kids around, anyway.”

She kept telling herself that as she drove away a few minutes later.

It was even the truth.

It didn’t do jack to untangle the knot inside.

And nothing could help with the bigger, uglier knot of fear that wedged itself deep into her gut.

“Stop worrying,” she told herself.

It wouldn’t do any good anyway. Wasn’t like she could change the outcome of anything.

Chapter Twenty-two

Whatever you find, I hope you keep that in mind.

Those words had managed to do two things—stir his curiosity and make him check her out. Travis hadn’t really planned to do much of anything, to be honest. He didn’t make a habit of digging around in the backgrounds of the people his brothers were dating.

Well, not right off the bat.

If somebody struck him as off? Well, then, that changed things.

Ressa, if it hadn’t been for the interlude in the library, he wouldn’t have gone nosing around, at least not right away. Even though she had managed to set his instincts off.

He liked her. She was blunt and funny and Clayton clearly adored her. She treated the kids—both the little girl and Clayton—well, and to him that mattered a hell of a lot.

So, she clearly didn’t trust law enforcement types. She wasn’t the only one, and plenty had a reason not to.

And if she hadn’t said anything in the library, he would have just made himself let it go. Now, though . . .

It had been four days since she’d been over with that doll of a little girl. Each day, he’d had to force himself not to go digging anything up. He didn’t have a reason to. She wasn’t doing anything, right? Just dating his brother.

His rich brother.

His single brother.

His widowed brother who really didn’t have that much experience with women.

That was the nagging little voice of evil, that red devil that rode his shoulder.

The other voice, well, he couldn’t call him an angel, but maybe it was the voice of common sense, he spoke up and reminded him, You like her. Trey’s not an idiot. He’s got decent instincts, even if maybe he has been out of the game awhile—or never even in the game to begin with. Just let it go.

Yet Ressa had all but told him there was something in her past that he wouldn’t like. That meant Trey wouldn’t like it. And she hadn’t told Trey, either.

Why was she keeping secrets?

It didn’t take much time at all to figure out just what she’d been warning him about.

By the time he was done checking everything out, his head was pounding and he didn’t know if he wanted to warn Trey . . . or just find Ressa and tell her to get it over with.

*   *   *

“About damn time you talk to me. What did it take, Mama fussing at you?”

Ressa closed her eyes at Kiara’s words, trying to ignore the stab of guilt. She didn’t need to feel guilty. Yes, it had taken Mama Ang nudging her, but she’d called, right?

“I’m calling, right, Kiara?” she asked softly. “How are you doing?”

There was a faint pause, and then finally, she said, “I wanna see Neeci.”

A headache settled at the base of Ressa’s head. “K, we’ve talked about this. You saw her not that long ago. You can see her at Thanksgiving. But—”

“Damn it, Ress! She’s my baby. I want to see her!” Kiara’s voice skipped, hitched. That heavy, harsh, needling whine underscored those words.

Ressa closed her eyes to the pain and focused on what mattered—Neeci. She used to allow it, whenever Neeci wanted it, whenever Kiara wanted it. And Neeci had nightmares. Used to wet the bed all the time, cry all the time. The counselor had suggested maybe they try something different.

It had broken her heart, but in the end, Ressa knew it was the right thing.

Neeci was a child and she needed more stability than Kiara could—or would—ever be able to provide. She needed to be safe and secure, and she needed something that Kiara just couldn’t offer.

“We’ve talked about this. If you want to write her a letter, you’re more than welcome to. You’re welcome to do a phone call, if you remember the rules. But you’re not going to put her through this.”

“I’m not putting her through anything,” Kiara half shouted. “She’s my little girl and you are not her mother.”

“No.” Ressa steadied herself. “I’m her guardian. You signed away parental rights and there’s nothing you can do or say to change that, Kiara.”

There was a faint pause and then finally, Kiara said, “Yeah. You’re her fucking guardian and I’m the one who’s in here. And whose fucking fault is that? But it may not stay that way. Not forever.”

Guilt twisted inside. “Kiara . . .”

“Don’t!” Kiara shouted.

In the background, voices raised.

“What does that mean?” Blood started to roar in her ears.

A harsh, bitter laugh drifted through the phone. “We’ll talk next time you’re out here, cuz. I’m not telling you on the phone. But you and Mama Ang need to come out here, and soon. Since you don’t have anybody to leave my baby with, you’ll have to bring her.”

“I don’t think so.” Ressa gripped the phone tighter.

“Well, you don’t have much choice,” Kiara said, her voice sly. “There are things I have to tell you and I need to tell you both. So what else are you going to do?”

“I’ll make arrangements.” Ressa set her jaw, her mind automatically flashing to Trey. “I already have somebody in mind. Kiara, what’s going on?”

“You’ll do anything to keep my girl away from me,” Kiara said. Sullen temper underscored her words. “When you going to be here?”

Sighing, Ressa skimmed a hand back over her damp hair. She still needed to deal with her hair, needed to call Mama Ang now, needed a drink. “Look, I’ll talk to Mama Ang. See what I can work out. I’ll let you know.”

“Yeah. Fine. Whatever.”

“Kiara . . . I love you.”

Kiara said nothing, for the longest time. And then she murmured, “I know.”

The line went dead a moment later.

*   *   *

For the first time in . . . ages, really, a story had sucked him under.

It helped, he supposed, that Travis was there. He volunteered to pick up Clayton and Trey just grunted, only vaguely aware. He surfaced again when his alarm went off, signaling that it was time for him to leave, but since Travis was already gone, he only paused long enough to fuel himself with coffee and a hastily slapped together sandwich, and then he lost himself back in the story.

It had been nearly eight before he found himself winding down and then he was famished, eyes bleary, and guilt had him seeking out his son.

Clayton was snuggled up against Travis while they watched Captain America. Trey paused briefly to shake his head—the two of them had already watched every single movie in the Avengers franchise—and some of them twice—and Travis hadn’t been there that long.

But that didn’t keep him from attacking the fridge—he rolled his eyes at the leftover pizza. Then he ate a slice cold and reheated what was left before joining them in the living room.

While the captain was grieving over Bucky, Trey looked over at his twin. Trying to keep his voice casual, he asked, “Did anybody call or anything while I was off in another world?”

“Nope.” Travis lifted a bottle of beer to his lips, drank deep, then shot him a look. “Were you expecting a call?”

Yes. He shrugged. “Just wondering.”

He pulled his phone from his back pocket, eyed the lack of messages and then blew out a breath.

“You’re watching the movie with us, right, Dad?” Clayton asked, his voice soft, gaze still locked on the screen.

“Yeah, Clay. I’m watching.” He did send her a text, though.

Hey . . . how you doing?

There was no answer, though. Even when he was tucking Clayton into bed, even when he returned to his office and tried to catch up on some of the non-writing work he’d ignored all day.

He’d only been at it twenty minutes when Travis joined him, his feet silent. Travis had always been quiet, but Trey had always known when he was there, too.

“You and Ressa going out this weekend?”

Trey looked up at his brother, studying him. He’d been in town a little over a week now and he was looking less gaunt by the day.

Less gaunt, less tired . . . but his eyes were still grim. He looked older, too.

Older, and harder.

Trey couldn’t think of a better way to put it. Travis had been born three minutes before Trey, but there were times when it looked like a decade separated them.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, and wished he did know. They’d had coffee twice this week. He’d had sex with her—about a hundred times—but it was all in his head, or in dreams, and if he didn’t remedy that soon, he thought his balls might bust.

Of course, sometimes, he had second thoughts, and third, and fourth. Occasionally those thoughts were followed by a panic attack because he worried about just what he’d do—what Ressa would think—if things got all hot and sweaty between them and then he had another freak-out session in the middle of a make-out session.

More than once, he’d had to mentally kick his own ass, because he’d decided he was moving past this. Moving on with his life—because he actually wanted to have a life.

They were still dancing around that talk . . . despite the fact that they talked on the phone every night. Sometimes it was just for a few minutes. But then there had been a couple of nights when they walked for a good two hours after they put their respective kids down.

He didn’t know if he’d see her that weekend and the thought that he might not made his mood take a turn for the lousy.

“Haven’t made any plans?” Travis settled in the beat-up chair next to him, elbows braced on his knees.

“What is this, twenty questions?” Eying his inbox with acute dislike, he said a silent prayer that his assistant Meg would be back to work next week—she’d been on vacation while he was at the convention plus the following week and right before she was supposed to come back, her mother had passed away.

He knew she needed the time away. Shit, if his mother had died, he had a feeling he’d crumple like a baby and want to hide for about a year. He got it, really.

But at the same time, he was lost without Meg being here.

Deciding the search-and-destroy method would be best, Trey did a search for the stuff he knew he wouldn’t mess with—all the promotional stuff that was sent his way—he tagged and filed all of that into a folder for Meg to deal with when she was back and up to it. Then he did another search for the people he knew he had to answer sooner rather than later, although those people tended to call. There was a mess of stuff from his agent and his editor, including a new cover.

“You never did answer me.”

“What?” Trey only barely registered Travis’s voice as he studied the cover. He didn’t know what to think about it. It was another L. Forrester book, about one of the secondary characters he’d had in the last one. The heroine had a friend on the quiet, shy, almost gawkish side . . . and somebody who’d worked with the hero in the book had fallen for her.

This one was called Seducing the Scholar and instead of a sexy girl with a tie, it had a guy. Trey didn’t care what it said about him. He much preferred the pretty girl over the bare-chested pretty boy they’d slapped on this one. He’d told them he wanted something in the same vein . . . and this was definitely that. But he much preferred the beautiful woman.

“Hell, Trey, are you even on . . . what is this . . .”

He went to slap his laptop shut but Travis stopped him, moving entirely too fast as he jerked the laptop out of his reach and all but sprinted around the desk until he had it between them.

“Give me that damn laptop,” Trey growled, rising and bracing his hands on the surface of the desk.

“‘Seducing the Scholar’ . . .” Travis drew it out, eyes narrowed. He looked up and the screen was reflected in miniature in his gaze. “So. Who is L. Forrester?”

“You jackass, give me the computer.”

“Answer the question.” Travis just backed up, an unholy light gleaming in his eyes. “You devious little bastard. It’s you, isn’t it?”

If he could have managed not to blush, he would have bluffed. He knew how to bluff, even his twin. At least he thought he could have bluffed.

But it was a waste of time to even try because that telltale hot flush he could feel spreading up his neck, then his cheeks, was a dead giveaway. “Give me my damn computer, you moron.”

“Has Mom read these?” Travis sidestepped another grab for the computer, moving easier than he had since he’d arrived. He backed up farther out of reached as he grinned at his brother. “Does she know you went and picked up a pen name?”

“No, you fuckwit.”

“Fuckwit.” Travis chuckled as he cocked his head, studying the cover from one side, then the other. “So is this one of the billionaire books? You giving up the cry me a river books?”

“No.” He gauged the distance, the desk, and then hurtled over it. One hand slipped on a piece of paper but he made it. Travis was already dodging out of reach. “You piece of shit—”

“You kiss that pretty lady of yours with that mouth?” Travis snapped the laptop shut and turned it over. “So what is this? What’s the L. Forrester stuff?”

Steaming, tapping the laptop against his leg, Trey debated beating his brother senseless or just leaving the room. “You are just as annoying now as you were when we were kids,” he finally said.

“Probably.” Travis looked cheerful. “You going to answer the question? I can always call Mom. I bet she’s heard of this L. Forrester person. I’ll see what she . . .”

“It’s romance. Okay? Aliesha wanted me to try something different.”

Travis’s face, still lit with teasing laughter, slowly sobered.

Sighing, Trey turned away. “Don’t look like that. Okay? I started working on it a couple of years after she died. It was . . . therapy. The first idea was something I bullshitted over with her, and she told me I should try it. I decided to and my editor liked it, but the imprint doesn’t do romance, so we went with another imprint at my publishing house. It did well. I had fun with it, so we did another. And . . .”

He stopped, shrugged. “I like those cry me a river books,” he said, sliding his brother a dour look. “It’s what I’m good at. But every once in a while, I want to do something different. This is. And apparently I don’t suck at it.”

“Are you still doing it for Aliesha?” Travis studied him.

Trey glared at him.

Holding up his hands, Travis said, “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m trying to understand, trying to help. I loved her, too. I . . . I just . . .” He stopped and looked away. “But I see how you looked at Ressa. If you’re doing this for Aliesha . . . ?”

“It’s not for Aliesha. She’s part of my past, but Ressa . . .” Trey didn’t even have to think about it. His heart ached just thinking about Ressa. It ached, even as a smile seemed to fill every empty part of him. “I look at her and I hurt. I look at her and I want things I thought I’d never want again. I didn’t think I’d ever feel that way again.”

He turned away, putting the laptop on his desk as he moved to the window. Shoving the window open, he unlatched the screen and leaned out.

He needed air.

A good twenty yards away was the dark, looming presence of Nadine’s house, and as he stood there, he thought he saw one of her curtains flicker, then fall back into place. He scowled and then pointedly looked away.

Quietly, he said, “Aliesha’s gone, but I didn’t do this for her. It was for me. I needed to find a way to close the door, say good-bye . . . something. That’s what the first book was. The first chapter was the first step in letting go . . . it just took me a while to figure that out.”

Travis was quiet.

He was quiet for so long, Trey started to wonder if he’d slipped out.

But when he turned, he saw his brother standing exactly where he had been. “Can I suggest you do something else for you, then?”

Trey narrowed his eyes.

Travis shrugged. “The kid’s asleep. He’ll stay that way until you wake him up. Chances are Ressa’s little girl is sleeping, too. Why don’t you go spend some time with your woman, Trey?”

He opened his mouth, but Travis cut him off. “Both of you have kids you have to keep in mind. I can stay here with him. The two of you need to grab some time for yourself and stop dancing around each other like cats.”

Brooding, Trey went to shake his head. Not a good idea. Of course, his entire body was already hard at the thought, blood thrumming in his veins.

“Go on,” Travis said. “You should have seen your face when I told you nobody called, and don’t act like you weren’t expecting her to call. Go see her. Take some time for you.”

For a long moment, Trey stared at his brother and then, without saying another word, he headed for the door.

“By the way . . .”

Trey paused in the doorway and looked back.

“I already knew your little secret,” Travis said, grinning at him. “You have all those other books—the hot girl with the tie—up in the spare room. If you didn’t want me knowing, you should have locked the room or told me to stay out.”

Trey just flipped him off.

*   *   *

Hey . . . how are you doing?

She’d picked up the phone, stared at the text about a dozen times.

And about a dozen times, she’d almost called him, because she needed to hear his voice. She wanted to see him. But if they talked, he’d hear something in her voice, she knew it.

And this wasn’t something she could go into over the phone.

They needed to have that talk before she launched into a full-on sulk about the things from her past, and how her temperamental, and troubled, cousin still tangled up everything. So Ressa remained in her bed, curled up on her side and trying to pretend she could sleep, that the past few days hadn’t happened.

She stroked the screen of her phone like a talisman, keeping her thoughts on Trey. If she thought about him, she wouldn’t have to think about the fact that this weekend, she and Mama Ang would be going to see her cousin, and she’d find out just what that sly note in Kiara’s voice meant.

She needed to talk to him, though. See if he’d mind keeping Neeci with him. There were a few others she could leave her cousin with, but nobody she was as comfortable with and nobody that Neeci would like being with.

Whose fucking fault is that? Kiara’s words rang in her ears. Groaning, she rolled onto her belly and buried her face in her pillow.

“Think about something else,” she told herself.

She shoved the phone call out of her mind, tried to think about Trey, but instead, her mind spun back.

Years back. Back to the time when everything had gone wrong.

*   *   *

“Wow.” Kiara stared around her for a long moment before looking at her cousin. “How are you affording this?”

She shrugged. “You ready to go?” On her way out the door, she grabbed her jacket but Kiara stopped her yet again, her eyes going wide at the buttery-soft leather jacket she’d pulled on.

“Oh . . . Ress. That is nice!”

“Thanks. Come on. We’re going to be late for the movie. We hardly ever go out anymore.”

“That’s because you’re always busy,” Kiara said, laughing as she gave the leather jacket one more envious stroke. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were out there following in your dad’s footsteps or something, the way you got this place fixed up, your clothes . . .”

“Very funny.” Ice skated up her spine, but she pushed it away. “I don’t mess with that stuff. I told you that. And you better not either.”

It had taken her forever to get her life somewhat normal. She wouldn’t mess it up now.

“So are you working or what?”

“Would you let it go?” She glared at Kiara and herded her out the door, locking it behind her. They’d almost made it to Kiara’s car when a quick shout had them looking back.

“That your roommate?” Kiara asked as Hannah came jogging down the stairs, holding the cordless in her hand.

“Yeah.”

“Ress, if you cancel on me again, I’m never talking to you again,” Kiara said, a sulk threading its way in her voice.

“I’m not cancelling.” She wanted to go see a damn movie with her cousin.

Hannah was closer now and caught the last half of the conversation, her eyebrows going up. She paused, looking back and forth. “It’s . . . your boss,” she said after a pause. “They had a no-show and need you to come in. They’ll pay double tonight.”

“No.” She glared at Hannah and gestured to Kiara. “Let’s go. We’re going to be late.”

“But . . .”

“No.” She gave Hannah a hard look and hurried around the car. Kiara gave her an odd look as she slammed the door.

“You really got to tell me what kind of job this is—a place that pays double if you come in? I need that kind of job.”

*   *   *

It was almost two in the morning before she made it home.

The memory of her movie date with her cousin wasn’t much more than a memory—that had been over a month ago and everything since then had been a blur of classes, dinners, parties—and very little sleep.

Maybe the dinners and parties would sound fun to some.

But when she had to do a cocktail party at three and then a dinner party that lasted until midnight, followed by a brunch that started at nine, on top of keeping up with her class load . . .

Sometimes she wished she’d never told Hannah she’d talk to her friend, Sharon.

“. . . that easy.”

That voice made her pause.

Sharon.

Speak of the devil.

She paused in the hallway, head cocked as she listened in.

The next voice had her shoving a door open and she gaped at the young woman sitting across from Sharon Hightower—the woman responsible for the money she now had in her bank account.

She didn’t know who was more surprised—herself, or her cousin.

Kiara recovered first, smiling widely at her. “Hey, Ress!”

“Kiara.” She set her jaw. “What are you doing here?”

Kiara stood up, nervously smoothing down a red dress that looked suspiciously familiar. It looked almost dead like the one she owned. “I came by to see if you wanted to grab dinner, but you weren’t here and . . .” She shrugged, tried for a smile. “I started talking to Hannah.”

She turned her attention to Hannah and the pretty blonde smiled. “She’s pretty, Ress. She asked some questions and I answered, then she wanted to know more so I asked Sharon over.”

“Yeah. And she’s smart and she doesn’t need to do this.” Fury pulsed inside her. Fury—and fear.

“Oh, come on . . .” Sharon spoke to Ressa for the first time, a pleasant smile on her face. “It’s harmless. Look at what it’s done for you.”

*   *   *

If she was as smart as she liked to think, Ressa would have punched Sharon Hightower in her pretty, perfect nose.

But she hadn’t.

Sighing, she snuggled deeper into her pillow, still clutching her phone like a talisman. Now . . .

The knock on the door caught her off guard.

Swallowing, she looked down at the workout gear she had on, her heart slamming hard against her ribs. Her head spun, bile churning its way up her throat, compliments of the memory of that night. She’d thought if she pounded away her grievances on the treadmill, she’d feel better, but no luck.

There was another knock, harder this time and she swore, rising from her bed and moving toward the stairs. Whoever that was, he was going to wake Neeci up—

He.

Her heart lurched up into her throat.

Even though her gut told her who it was, wariness had her approaching the door slowly, and she clutched her phone tighter as she paused a few feet away.

It was past ten now. Fears from childhood, old but not forgotten, rose up. A girl didn’t grow up the way she had without learning more than a little caution.

From several feet away, she called out, “Who is it?”

And at the same time, she moved to the antique table near the door and grabbed one of the ugly metal sculptures that Bruce had loved to collect. She always made fun of them, teased her stepfather about them, but after he died, getting rid of them had seemed impossible. Now, the solid weight of it felt good in her hand.

The sound of Trey’s voice made her heart race all that much harder. “It’s me.”

“Trey . . .” Her mouth went dry. Bracing one hand on the door, she leaned in, staring through the Judas hole centered on her door. He had his head bowed and it looked like he mirrored her pose, one hand braced on the door while he waited. Waited for what?

Dread twisted, shifted.

Aw, now . . . what is this shit? Don’t I have enough going on?

Hard times, girl, they will make you or they will break you . . . the echo of Mama Ang’s voice came up from the recesses of her mind, and she squared her shoulders before she reached out to unlock the door.

Face expressionless, she opened it, pondering the bottle of wine she had in the fridge. She couldn’t think of too many things that would have him on her doorstep this late.

Looked like the twin brother had gone and ratted her out.

The son of a bitch.

*   *   *

Trey had planned to say something. Anything, really.

But as the door slowly opened to reveal her standing there in clothes that skimmed her thighs and hips, a tank that drooped over one shoulder, leaving luscious skin and all those fucking sexy tattoos bared, every thought he had drained away.

Should they talk?

Yeah.

She seemed concerned about whatever secrets her past held. He had some shadows of his own—shadows that had haunted and strained his life for nearly six years. Should he explain those?

Oh, hell, yeah.

But all he could think about was the sad, somber look in her eyes.

What’s hurt you?

He wanted to ask—no, demand. Then he wanted to kiss the misery away and make it all better.

One hand clenched into a fist as he let his gaze roam lower, over the gray tank, the tattoos he’d kissed his way across, the curve of her breasts.