I’VE JUST HEARD FROM THE pilot that Faith is on the plane in Sonoma when Rita walks into my office and sets a stack of papers on my desk. “You were served. It’s all a bunch of nonsense meant to slow probate. Boy, the bank really wants to keep that place, don’t they?”
I thumb through the stack of, as she called it “nonsense,” and it’s exactly that.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Did she get the dress?”
“Yes. She got the dress.”
“And?”
“And it’s good.”
“And you’re happy with the other gift?”
“Yes. I’m happy.”
“But not about that stack of papers. Got it. Removing myself from the line of fire.” She turns and leaves and I thrum my fingers on the desk. The bank wants her in default. I don’t know why and I don’t care. They’re gambling on the fact that I’ll advise her not to pay the money until I’m sure she won’t lose it. And without all the hidden facts, they seem to know and we don’t, that’s exactly what I’d do.
I stand up and walk to the window, the fifth floor of the building allowing me the feeling of looking down on a city of millions and it’s here, doing just that, that I find answers. And now is no different. Faith can’t pay that money, but I can. I dial my banker. “Charlie,” I say. “I need a hundred and twenty thousand dollars delivered to SA National Bank by closing today in the name of Reid Winter Winery. I need you to personally talk to him and confirm it’s done.”
“You got it,” he says. “What else?”
“Note that this is back payments, fees, and six months in advance. And email proof to Rita and text me when the transaction is complete.”
I end the call and walk to my desk. “Rita.”
She appears in my doorway. “Yes, boss?”
“You will be receiving proof that the Reid Winter note to the bank is paid to date and six months in advance. I’ll be filing a slaughterhouse of documents Monday morning.”
“In other words, be here at six.”
“That will do it.”
“Got it. What else?”
“Go home and do whatever people who have been married forever do.”
She smiles. “We do the same things you do, Nick Rogers, but better, because we’ve been practicing. Have fun with Faith this weekend.” She disappears, and I’m already back at the window and dialing Beck.
“I just paid Faith’s past due bank note and six months in advance,” I tell him. “I like to know my enemies when I make them. And I pay you a lot of money to tell me who they are.”
“I found a secretary at the bank that was at a party your father attended three months before he died. That same secretary visited Reid Winter Winery a year before Meredith Winter died. The interesting part about this is that Faith’s agent, and her ex, were at the gallery where she just had that show, that weekend.”
“With Faith?”
“Faith was in L.A.”
“That’s odd.”
“Yes. It is.”
“It gets even stranger. Her uncle was in Sonoma that weekend staying at his cottage, without his wife.”
“You think he was still fucking Meredith Winter?”
“I damn sure wouldn’t rule it out.”
Which will absolutely kill Faith. “How does the secretary connect to that bastard, Montgomery, I’m dealing with?”
“She’s his boss’s boss’s secretary. I don’t know what your father got himself into, but it’s dirty. I’m gambling on that murder connection. And I’ll figure it out, but you need every bit of evidence when I do to take this to the police. You still believe Faith Winter is innocent.”
“I don’t remember saying either way.”
“Well, let her tell you if she’s innocent or guilty. We need two bodies and two autopsies. If she’s innocent, she’ll request one on her mother. If she’s not, she’ll refuse.”
“Just keep working this,” I say, and end the call, leaning a hand on the window.
Faith is innocent. The problem is, I’m not. I’ve lied. I’ve deceived her. And eventually, I have to tell her. And when I do, I’m at the risk of losing her but I’ve never lost anything I wanted in my life. And I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want Faith Winter.
I’m standing in the private hangar when Faith’s plane pulls to a halt and the minute the doors open and she steps into the opening, adrenaline surges through me. Her eyes meet mine, and I feel this woman like I’ve felt no other. I’m obsessed with her when I have never been obsessed with anything but success. With how she looks. With how she feels. With how she tastes. With the way she trusts me when I trust her. The way she doubts me when I doubt her. I have read people as well as I read Faith, but no one has ever read me the way she reads me. And out of nowhere, I think: I’m falling in love with her. Which is insane. I don’t believe in love and neither does she and she’s new to me. I’m new to her. But when does someone know they are in love? A day? A week? A year? It doesn’t matter. It’s not love. Whatever the hell this is though, Faith feels it too. I see it in her eyes. She lowers her lashes as if battling what I’m battling.
I watch her inhale and let it out before her lashes lift and she starts walking down the stairs, her eyes on mine, and in them I see an echo of what I am thinking. We need to fuck this out of our systems. Fucking makes everything better. I meet her at the bottom of the steps, and in the quiet of the private hangar I do exactly what I want to do. I mold her to me and I kiss her like the starving man I am. And she tastes like everything I have ever wanted and didn’t even know I wanted.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, tearing my mouth from hers.
“Yes,” she whispers, and I swear this woman’s voice gets me hard and hot. I want her mouth everywhere, most definitely on my damn cock, and that’s her fault for being so damn good at putting it there.
I grab her bag from the flight attendant and waste no time guiding Faith to the parking lot. Once her bag is in my back seat, I walk her to the passenger side of the vehicle and when she’s about to get inside, I pull her to me again and kiss her. “I’m really fucking glad you’re here.”
“Is this where you say ‘too fucking glad’?”
“This is where I take you home and get you naked before I find a way to piss you off and it never happens.”
She laughs, soft and sexy, and slides into the car. I’m inside with her in a few beats, and before I start the car, she says, “Can I get the bad stuff over with real quick?”
I angle toward her. “What bad stuff, Faith?”
“Anything with the bank?”
“I filed papers. They filed papers. I’m filing more papers. Bottom line. I made a big move and I’ll know more on Monday how that plays out.”
“What big move?”
“Legal stuff,” I say, not about to tell her about the money. Not now. I’ll swim in the shit I’ve created all at once and with a plan. “And I’m asking you to trust me enough to set it aside until Monday. Okay?”
“Yes. Okay.”
“Good.” I lean over and kiss her because, fuck. I have to. And then I get us on the road.
“How was your flight?” I ask.
“Short and bumpy,” she says. “But it was great. I love flying.”
“But you’ve never flown internationally,” I say. “We need to fix that. Paris is all about art and wine. We should go.”
“That would be incredible, but right now I can’t leave.”
“We’re going to fix that and soon,” I promise. “Tell me the details you know about the L.A. show.”
“Josh just told me that I’m in,” I say. “I’m sure I’ll get more specifics by Monday.”
“And you know which pieces were selected?”
“Nick. Don’t be mad, but….”
I glance over at her and laugh. “You put me in it didn’t you?”
“I did. My first portrait and on a whim when I was filling out the forms and submitting photos, I included it. You’re not mad, right?”
“I don’t care if you put me in the show, as long as it’s about you.”
“Maybe you are a little sweet, Nick Rogers.”
“I’ll put that idea to rest before the weekend’s over, I promise you. And that means you have to let me see it.”
“I will. When it’s done. I have two weeks to finish. I think this weekend might just let me finish your eyes.”
And on that note, I silently vow to make sure that every time she looks at me this weekend, she sees all the right things, and none of the wrong.
Fifteen minutes later, we pull into the garage of my house, which is only a few minutes from my office. Faith is out of the car before I can round the BMW to help her, and gaping at the dark gray sports car beside us. She bites her lip and glances over at me. “You are such a rich guy, Nick Rogers. What is it?”
“Audi R8 5.2 V10,” I say. “And thank you. I work my ass off to be such a rich guy, and owned that assessment long before I inherited my father’s money.”
“How did you make your first million?”
“A drug company whose best-of-the-best attorney wasn’t as good as they thought.” He was also my father, but I don’t tell her that. Not now. One day when there are no more secrets. “Let’s go inside, Faith.”
“Yes. Let’s go see what a man like you calls home.”
“A man like me,” I say. “You can explain that later. Naked.”
She gives me one of her sexy, confident smiles. “I will.”
I open the back door. “I’ll get your bag. The door’s unlocked. Make yourself at home.”
She doesn’t hesitate. She drags delicate fingers through her long blonde hair and walks to the door and up the short set of steps that leads to the foyer of my home. I take my time pursuing her, allowing her time to decide what to do and where to go. Curious as to where that takes us both. Intrigued by this woman all over again, I join her, leaving her bag by the door, to find her slowly walking the rectangular-shaped space, and I scan it, taking in what she sees. Pale wooden floors, a gray sectional. Parallel to the living area is a bar that is shiny white with four barstools, and opposite it, are two modern steel and glass stairwells that climb the walls in two different directions.
She turns to face me, the distance between us I don’t intend to remain. “Clean, artistic lines. A house for a man who likes control.”
“I do like control,” I say, closing a foot of space between us. “I think that I like control.”
She replies as if I haven’t spoken those words. “It’s a beautiful house, Nick. It smells like you.”
“And how do I smell, Faith?”
“Like control. Like sex. Woodsy and sexy.”
“And you, sweetheart, smell like—”
“Amber and vanilla.”
“Yes, you do. And I’m obsessed with your scent. I’m obsessed with you.”
“Obsessed,” she says. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It is dangerous.”
And her reply is everything any man could want. “Where is your bedroom, Nick?”
“Up the stairs directly behind you.”
She turns and starts up the stairs, her pace slow, seductive, calculated. She knows every swing of her hips makes me burn. And I fucking love it. I wait until she’s upstairs, out of sight, and then with my adrenaline pumping, I follow her. I find her sitting on the end of my king-sized mattress, the centerpiece of my room, the gray headboard behind her. That card from her father in her lap.
“I need to read this. And you know that means I need you.”
I inhale on a realization. Faith is once again using sex as a wall. And I almost let her. I had the word “love” pop into my head and I just wanted to fuck. And she just wants to fuck. But I’m not letting her hide from me. Even if it means I can’t escape whatever the fuck this unknown emotion is I feel for this woman. I walk to the bed, and stand above her. She doesn’t touch me. I don’t want her to, and she knows this. I like that she knows. I shrug out of my jacket and remove my tie, both of which I toss to the center of the bed. I then set the card aside, and do what I know she does not expect me to do.
I take her down on the mattress with me, rolling her to face me. “I’m not going to spank you, Faith,” I say, sliding my leg between hers. “Not now. Maybe not even this weekend. I want you to see and feel me. I want you to remember me this weekend, not my hand.”
“Nick,” she whispers, and when I kiss her, she does that thing she does. She breathes out like she needed my kiss, like it’s why she exists. And right now, this woman is why I exist. I kiss her. I touch her. I strip her naked and me too. I lick her nipples. I lick her clit. I lick every inch of her until she is begging for me inside her and I need to be there. And once I’m inside her, and we’re staring at each other, swaying together, I don’t make love to her. I don’t do love, but I damn sure don’t fuck her, either. And when it’s over, I hold her for long minutes before I settle my shirt around her and help her roll up the sleeves.
We order Chinese and eat in my bed, me in my pants, and her in my shirt, and I like this woman in my clothes and my bed. It’s only after we finish eating that I am ready to show her one of the gifts I have for her this weekend. I take her hand. “Come. I want to show you something.”
“Now you have me curious.”
“Good,” I say, guiding her down the hallway. “That’s the idea.”
We stop at a room with the door shut and I open it and motion her forward. She smiles and walks inside and gasps. “Nick. What did you do?”
I step inside the doorway to find her standing in the center of the massive triangle-shaped room, next to the canvas I have set up for her, a supply of brushes and paint nearby. “They tell me the floor cleans right up. I had it installed this week.”
“Why would you do this?”
“I didn’t want you to be away from your brush.”
“This is incredible. It’s such a cool, crazy-shaped space. What was this room before now?”
“Nothing. I had no idea what to do with it.”
She inhales, her chest rising and falling. “What happens when I’m not around?”
I cross to stand in front of her, cupping her face. “That’s where we’re differing here, Faith. I’m thinking about every moment I have with you and you’re thinking about goodbye.” I kiss her then, and damn it, I am obsessed with her. So fucking obsessed. And like she said, obsession is dangerous.