CHAPTER FOUR
Teresa
Listening for Will to reenter his room after the hallway altercation, I finally hear the door snick shut. Footsteps traveling down the hallway, man and dog. After meeting him, I have no doubt he’s going to double check my story with motel reception, but I’m safe. They’re disorganized enough to think they truly made a mistake and definitely won’t suspect I simply climbed the first-floor balcony and jimmied the flimsy lock.
Entering the bathroom, I barely recognize myself in the mirror, my neck flushed from the encounter with Will. I grip the sink edge and blow out a shaky breath, attempting to get myself under control. It doesn’t work. My hips sway forward and press against the cheap imitation marble, my head falling back on my shoulders. Without consent, my butt muscles flex, grinding me closer—and wow. Nothing to see here, I’m just humping the sink. Christ.
I’ll admit that after Silas showed me Will Caruso on Instagram, I scrolled through his feed…all the way to the end. Purely for research purposes, of course. And yeah, he is potent on a tiny digital screen, but nothing compares to real life. Nothing comes close. For one thing, I can smell him. Can smell nature hugging him closely, laced through with undertones of menthol aftershave.
Part of me was wondering if Will’s vamoose from New York was some rich boy emo quest to discover himself. After spending a few minutes around him and Southpaw—seeing the way they react to one another—I have to admit it’s the real deal. Whatever happened between him and Silas might have contributed, but as his Instagram account implies, he’s on the road to give Southpaw a treasure trove of final memories. A man showing genuine affection for something other than himself must be the reason I’m so damn attracted.
Good thing we’re incompatible.
I’m not talking about physically. Because, hello, I’m grinding against a sink and if someone ran into my nipples, they would impale themselves. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hot for a real-life man, have I? The closest I’ve come in recent memory is seeing Magic Mike XXL in theaters after two mango margaritas.
We’re incompatible for three reasons. One? He’s a man, which definitely doesn’t work in his favor. Two? I’m here under false pretenses. Three? Silas expects me to sleep with Will.
I can’t give that evil man the satisfaction.
In another world, if Will and I had a chance meeting in a bar, I would let my libido get some exercise and strut away without looking back. But my goal is getting Will back to New York, right? As I’ve discovered too many times before, as soon as sex ceases to be the big, mysterious driving force between a man and woman, he starts to lose interest. I have to keep that interest.
And that means sex is a no-no.
Easy peasy, right?
I fan my heated cheeks.
The most important thing I noticed about Will during our first meeting is this: he’s as sharp as a samurai sword—and not the prop kind. I don’t have long to accomplish this mission before he smells something rotten in Denmark. As every reality show villain in history says, I’m not here to make friends. I need to remember that next time I’m faced with all that keen intelligence and scarred, rugged muscle in one huge, animal-loving package.
Don’t. Don’t think of his package. Or the way he came to my defense and then acted so freaking cool about it. Smiling as I passed. Instead of crushing a beer can on his forehead like most guys after the tiniest squabble.
I fan myself harder, but the added wind doesn’t help. Admitting defeat, I drop my right hand, sliding it into the front of my shorts. As soon as my middle finger grazes my clit, I cinch my tights around my hand on a moan. Eyelids drooping, I remember how his thick shoulders rolled as he removed his shirt, that muscle popping in his jaw. And that dusting of black hair decorating his stomach. Not the abdomen of a man who flexes and preens all day in the gym, but goes extra hard on the weights when he needs to burn energy. Making him rock solid beneath a tight layer of rough, no frills, glorious bulk—
My cell phone buzzes on the sink. A frustrated whine breaks past my lips at the interruption, but when I look down and see my brother’s name, I whip my hand out of my shorts faster than drug stores discount heart-shaped candy after Valentine’s Day.
“Shit. What…uhh…” I run my hand under the tap and dry it on a threadbare towel before answering. “Nicky. Hey!”
Congratulations, that sounded totally natural.
“Hey, Resa.” Traffic competes in the background amid honks and humming engines. “You go back to LA?”
“No.” Aware of the thin walls, I shut the bathroom door and sit down on the closed toilet. I’m also aware that Nicky’s phone line isn’t a smart way to communicate now that he’s running with Silas Case—it could easily be monitored—so I search for a way to keep things vague. “I had to take a little vacation. To handle everything.”
“A vacation.”
“Yeah.” Not having total control of my brother’s safety makes my right leg jiggle. Why did he have to go to New York in the first place? I should have worked harder to keep him from leaving. God. When my parents left us, I swore to myself I’d be his rock. Turns out I’m less rock, more slippery slope. Fix it. “Just…lay low for a while, all right? Real low. I’ll be coming to get you very soon.”
“How soon?” His tone is part impatience, part nerves. “I know you’re probably doing everything you can. And this is my fucking fault. But…nothing has changed. I’m still working. He called me personally and reminded me to show up as usual. No exceptions. He’s never done that, you know?”
Dammit. I come to my feet without realizing it and start to pace. “There’s nothing to worry about. That was probably just to put pressure on me—”
“Pressure on you? Resa, that’s never good coming from this man.” I can practically see Nicky snatching the ball cap off his head and jamming it back on. “I can’t believe I dragged you into this.”
I take a deep breath to combat the pressure in my throat. “Nicky, do everything you can to stay clear of trouble until I get back. I’m working on it as we speak.” Heat blooms behind my eyes, my arms shaking with the need to hug my little brother. The irresponsible shithead. I’m too far away to hold him, but there’s no way I’m ending this call with him sounding so scared. “Hey. Remember that summer I tried to recreate E.T. shot for shot with my first camcorder?”
“How could I forget?” He snorts. “You wrapped me in a sheet and made me be E.T. when I wanted to be out playing ball.”
“Right.” The memory of him sitting on the bathroom sink while I colored his index finger with bright red Sharpie makes my throat hurt. “I showed that recording to your first girlfriend, remember? Consider this payback.”
“I would never. But that was pretty fucked up.”
My laughter is halting. “Yeah, it was.”
There’s a long pause. “I’m more worried for you than me, Resa. Whatever you’re doing, be careful.”
I wave a hand, even though he can’t see me. I can see myself in the mirror, though, and there’s no mistaking the conflict in my eyes. “Trust me. I already got this half in the bag.”
An hour later, I have one foot propped on the bed while I lace up my chocolate-colored gladiator sandals, quietly thanking Lilly Pulitzer for the added reminder that I’m here to win. Losing could cost my brother everything.
A knock at the door brings my head up.
This is a job. Eyes open. Take it seriously.
And since Silas issued me an indirect warning, I’m giving him the mental bird by remembering one small but important fact.
He said I need to get Will back to New York.
He didn’t say anything about keeping him there.
*
Will
Pausing in the act of refilling Southpaw’s food bowl, I pick up my ringing phone. “Mom,” I answer. “Everything okay?”
“Sure, sure. Just watching my programs.” In the background I can hear the little dings signaling Vanna White to turn the letters on Wheel of Fortune. Such a familiar scene. One I haven’t visited since shit hit the fan in New York and I left town but remember like the back of my hand. “I just wanted to see how the road trip was going.”
I think of the woman on the other side of the wall. “You could say it’s getting interesting.”
“Oh. Well, that’s…nice to hear.” I straighten at her obvious disappointment. “Have you talked to anyone?”
There it is. Never fails. At least it took her a full thirty seconds this time to ask. “Who would I have talked to?”
Ding. Ding. More letters being turned. “Your father, maybe?”
Biting down on my tongue, I resist the urge to say he’s not my father. He is, though. Denying it is pointless. “No, I haven’t heard from him, Mom. I never did. He showed up the same time every year, no calls in between.”
Her laughter is light, dismissive of the truth. “But I thought things could be different now. Since there are no more secrets.”
“Those secrets are why I want nothing to do with him.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t understand why it isn’t the same for you.”
“He’s a man. All men make mistakes.” Her voice wobbles when she adds, “He shared so much with us over the years. Shouldn’t we forgive and forget?”
Ironically, this is one of the major reasons I’ll never forgive the bastard. My mother is too trusting by nature and he took advantage of that. As far as I’m concerned, he still is taking advantage, leaving her to wonder if he’ll ever come back, now that we know his true identity. The alternative is having him break off their odd relationship, though, and I don’t know if she could handle that, either. “Listen to me carefully, Mom. He’s a criminal. He’s not the good man you thought he was—and you need to stay away.”
I leave out the part about me warning Silas to stay away from her, in our one and only phone call, before I left New York. Not that I have a lot of faith in him listening.
“I’m a grown woman, Will. I decide how to spend my time.”
Knowing from experience there’s nothing I can do to make her budge, I take a breath and move on. For now. “I don’t want to argue with you.” I clear my throat. “Are you okay for money?”
“Yes, yes,” she rushes to say, sounding equally regretful over us trading words. “It’s really not polite to talk about finances over the phone, though.”
“You just summed up what I do for a living.” When she laughs, I can’t help but smile. “I’ll call soon, Mom. Take care.”
“You too, Will.” Silence stretches. “I’m…you take care. Bye now.”
We hang up.
My mother being enamored with Silas is nothing new. It’s something I’ve been around my whole life. Her effusive praise and excuse making. I know what he really is, though. I’ll be here for my mother when she realizes it, too.
Minutes later, when Teresa opens the door to her room, the phone call is forgotten. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved she’s wearing more clothes this time. Hell, it’s possible she’s just as edible in that little flimsy, floaty outfit as she was mostly naked. I’ve had over an hour to digest our first encounter, however. Long enough to realize she likes knocking me off balance with her looks. The question is, why does she want me off balance?
She slides a hand up the doorframe, and the hem flutters higher up her thigh, that smooth skin begging for a man’s hands. Mine.
“Hi,” she murmurs. “Ready to go?”
Fucking right I am. Just say the word. “In a minute.” I prop my own forearm on the frame and step closer. “I’m taking you in.”
A touch of irritation highlights the green in her eyes. But since I’m a gambling man, I’ll bet she’s annoyed because I throw her off balance. Not just because I’m a presumptuous cockhead. After a short stare-down, she shakes back that thick mane of hair, revealing the sweet slope of her neck. “Well, gosh. Don’t let me stop you.”
I smile.
She narrows her eyes.
Look, I’m the first to admit I like putting everyone on notice that I’m not an easy customer, whether it’s the mailman or the hotel clerk I interrogated earlier. Teresa’s story about the room mix-up checks out as much as possible in this shit-show establishment, but I’m still wary as hell. Today wouldn’t be the first time a rival hedge fund played dirty, trying to find some ammunition against me. I’ve never been part of the blue blood boys club and they don’t like my wild card image. Don’t like that they can’t find a formula for my stock plays. They can’t match my level, so they prod for weaknesses.
My only weakness in their eyes is a working-class upbringing. A reputation for settling disputes with my fists, instead of lawyers.
Growing up in Jersey City, being the biggest guy made me a target for every punk in the damn neighborhood. So I learned early how to be prepared. How to fight. Intimidate. Battles are backhanded in the New York financial market, though. They’re not the kind of fights I grew up participating in and they often get personal. However, both types of battles require determination. And my determination to succeed meant nothing was going to hold me back when it came to putting my fund on top.
Landing on the Forbes list next to men I’ve never heard of wouldn’t have meant a damn to me if it hadn’t been for my father’s influence, though.
Resentment curls in my stomach. I use the term father loosely. While I was growing up, he visited me exactly once a year, on my birthday. Yet his name was synonymous with Jesus Christ in our house. My mother never stopped singing the God-man’s praises. After all, he was the one keeping the lights on. Paying for us to eat. Live.
Over the last few years, I’ve settled into a less volatile way of life, having learned the hard way that investors don’t give their money to a fund run by a hothead. My new lease on life hasn’t stopped those rivals from attempting to undermine me, though. On two occasions, competitors have sent a belligerent, insulting drunk to my table during dinner meetings, hoping I would take a swing and make a public scene.
There has never been a woman used as bait, though.
If Teresa was, in fact, sent by a rival, what purpose would it serve? I’m not in the habit of whispering market values in between sweet nothings. Fuck, I don’t even know what a sweet nothing sounds like. But I’m having a hard time buying this dynamite girl showing up in my room, in a shitty Dallas motel, with no shirt. If someone was hoping to make me look like an unstable fund owner, now would be the ideal time. Investors are already skittish over my extended leave of absence from New York. Kicking me while I’m down could be a nail in the coffin. With Southpaw’s and my movements documented on Instagram, it wouldn’t be difficult to find me, either.
So it would be wise of me to stay away from Teresa, right?
See, caution really isn’t my style. I’ll get to the truth one way or another. In the meantime, I’m almost curious to see what she’s got in store. If she has been coached, I’ll see through it right away and she’ll get nothing of value out of me. I’ll have no choice but to walk away if she’s lying to me—lies are kind of a recurring theme in my life lately and I’m finished being on the receiving end. That being said, caution means staying in my room knowing this knockout exists on the other side of the wall. And that simply isn’t happening. I don’t have to remind myself to keep my wits about me, either, because they never take a vacation.
“Are you finished taking me in yet?”
Not by a damn sight. My suspicions do nothing to stop me from being turned on. She looks like a sin I want to commit. Frequently. “You can’t put a feast in front of a man and expect him not to gorge himself.”
She tilts her head. “There’s not going to be any gorging tonight, sweetheart.”
“No?”
“Nope.”
“I bet you call all the boys sweetheart.”
Her laugh catches her off guard. She jerks a little, before dropping her hand from the doorframe. “Actually I call them more trouble than they’re worth. That doesn’t bode well for you.”
This is another reason I didn’t do the cautious thing and stay away. It doesn’t hurt that she’s sexy as a motherfucker and twice as fascinating. But if she wanted to get me in a compromising position or attempt to get insider secrets out of me, would she be wasting time by playing hard to get? “I won’t deny I can be trouble.”
She brushes a hand against her pocket, probably checking for the room key, before stepping out. The door shuts behind her, the move bringing us up close and personal. A breath apart. “What kind of trouble?”
“I’ll tell you.” I settle a hand on her hip, easing her back against the door, watching her lips for protests. “Now that your door is closed, do you feel more secure that I won’t try and back you into the room?” Our hips meet and she whimpers, low and needy at the evidence of what she’s inspired. “I can kiss you without doing that. I’m kind of a prick, but I won’t take more than you offer me.”
“I wasn’t worried you’d back me in.” She’s staring at my mouth, too, her voice verging on breathless, and her interest makes my ball sack ache. “If you were that type of man, you had your opportunity earlier.”
Those protective instincts that fired to life earlier ride back in on a wave of irritation. She shouldn’t be so trusting. Even of me. “And if I’d changed my mind? Or decided dinner was too much trouble?”
Green-gray flash up at me—and at the same time, cool metal presses to my neck. “I live in Los Angeles. Both times, I’ve had my stun gun.” A flutter of lashes. “Sweetheart.”
Surprise filters in as I turn my head slightly, getting a good look at the object she’s holding. It looks like a flashlight, but the sharp points and divots along the surface tells me it doubles as something more hardcore. “Good girl.”
Her chin comes up. “Good girl? That’s it?” A wrinkle forms between her eyebrows. “Most guys would have called me a crazy bitch or something equally offensive by now.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Not disappointed. Just…”
“Contrite over lumping me in with most guys?”
“Not even close.”
Heat licks at my veins, my groin. Where the hell has this girl been hiding? The honest truth is, if she confessed to being a plant right here and now, I’d still be interested. While that’s a hard pill to swallow, I think walking away would prove more difficult. Pressing her into the door, I lean in to absorb her rushing exhale. “Are you going to use that stun gun on me if I kiss your sexy little mouth?”
There’s conflict and lust battling in her eyes. She doesn’t want to enjoy the way I talk to her, but she does. A lot. And if that gentle rock of her hips is any indication, she likes being plastered to me even more. “N-no. I won’t use it.”
“Put it away.” I brush our lips together, and Jesus Christ, she’s so soft. So giving. There’s a vibration inside her that matches my own, only I can’t remember ever being aware of mine before. “You’re about to get excited and I don’t want your finger on the trigger.”
Her head falls back in unspoken invitation and I accept, raking my tongue up the silky skin of her throat. The stun gun is lowered to her side. That tight body molds to mine, writhing against my waiting cock, even as she says, “Confident, are we?”
“If I wasn’t, woman, you’d have already chewed me up and spit me out.”
“I still might,” she breathes, her eyes bright with excitement. With challenge. That response sets off a corresponding pound of need so loud, it almost drowns out what she says next. “You’re not the only one who’s trouble.”
Fuck. I’m so worked up, I’m beginning to sweat, just from talking to her. If this was a jerk-off fantasy, I’d rip off that short skirt and bang her to kingdom come, right here in the hallway. This is real life, though. She’s vetoed my motion to gorge—for now—and I don’t second-guess women with stun guns.
So I drop my head and fuck her mouth, instead. It’s meant to be slow and thorough, but the second our tongues twine together and she whimpers, my restraint fizzles out like a torch dropped into the ocean. I’ve witnessed how assertive she is, but she submits to me, face turned up, arms slack, mouth mine. It’s a deadbolt clicking into place. Because God knows, I’m as dominant a man as they come. Yet I’ve never experienced this raw a level of satisfaction being the aggressor before. My senses are trying to find an anchor and can’t, being driven crazy by this mysterious woman who holds a stun gun to my neck one minute and gives me carte blanche with her sweet mouth the next.
I allow us to break for air, before we collide back together, one of her thighs lifting to hug my hips. If I wrap the other one around me, I’m not sure my cock will forgive me when we stop, so even though I catch that leg and keep it tight and elevated, I focus my hunger on her mouth. The texture, the way she matches my rhythm. Our lips open wide, my tongue slides in, finds hers for a lick, retreats out, followed by incredible slanting suction. Shit. Shit, no one has ever tasted this good.
Teresa moans into my mouth, her palms slapping my shoulders, and I realize we haven’t come up for breath in a while. It’s so bad my lungs are burning and I didn’t even notice. I’m having trouble thinking around her. “Look, woman,” I pant, rubbing our damp lips together. “I can’t help it if you taste better than oxygen.”
There’s a catch in her breath, confusion joining the arousal in her eyes. “If that wasn’t gorging, we have different definitions of the word.”
I wink at her. “Mine is better.” Feeling her retreat a little, I push some loose strands of hair from her face. “We don’t have to compare notes tonight.”
Her exhale is shaky. “That’s more than enough euphemisms on an empty stomach.”
We share a quiet laugh, our gazes connecting. Holding.
If you’re here under some false pretense, Teresa, just tell me.
I almost say the words out loud but manage to keep them to myself. There might even be some small part of me that doesn’t want to know just yet. “I’ll go grab Southpaw and we’ll head out.”
Teresa nods once and I steady her before stepping away. Just before I open the door for Southpaw, I look back to find her staring into space, a frown marring her pretty features. When she realizes I’m watching her, she meets my gaze head on, her expression half bemused, half serious…and I can feel a barrier forming that wasn’t there a moment ago.
I’ve known this woman less than a day.
But I’m going to knock that barrier down.