Chapter 11

Beckett

I swirled the dram of whisky and raised the nosing glass, inhaled the peaty scent into my nostrils, and sucked it in as deep as I could, as if it would travel through to my brain and scour it of thoughts of Olivia.

It didn’t help my assistant had chosen the Granite Room for me, today.

Three days had passed since that piece of shit freeloader had barged into her apartment. She hadn’t called me, and I sure as hell hadn’t called her. No way. I wouldn’t fall into that trap again.

I wouldn’t open up to her again. I’d already gone too far. She was my drug, and I hinged between hating her and… Don’t you dare, you pussy. You don’t have those types of emotions.

“Mr. Price?” The guy sitting across from me could easily have graced the cover of Sports Illustrated, the football edition. He was broad-shouldered and carried himself as if he’d love to knock someone’s teeth out. I could relate to that on a base level.

“Yeah,” I replied and sipped the whiskey. I savored it, then placed the glass on the table. Kayla would chew me out for this later. She had eyes and ears everywhere. Likely, the waiter was one of her spies and would call her the minute he had the chance.

News of my drinking wouldn’t shock her. Just piss her off.

Look at me, shaking in my designer shoes. I buried my mirth deep.

“Mr. Price, you’ve been silent for the last five minutes. We haven’t discussed my investment interests yet.” He pronounced each word as if it’d taken him two years to think it up. Maybe it had.

That big head could be empty for all I knew. And the word on the street was that this guy, Dane Holmes, had been chatting with my biggest rival, Cooper.

I gritted my teeth and twirled the glass between my fingertips. “Let’s talk. What are you interested in?”

“Naturally, I want the highest returns possible for my investments. I’m not interested in risks, at all. I’m interested in betting on the winning horse, so to speak. And I’m not entirely sure that your company knows which horses will win.”

“Any investment contains risk. There are no sure wins in this game,” I replied. “It’s the reason we have risk assessors.” I flashed him a sharp smile.

The guy didn’t like me. It oozed off him.

Years in the game and I’d become accustomed to picking up the minutiae of human interaction. Body language, micro-expressions. Every time his eyes met mine, his lips tightened at the corners, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

This meeting was a waste of my time and his.

My assistant had organized it weeks ago. I’d missed the first one, and possibly, my opportunity to have him on board as an investor.

This wasn’t an official meeting—it was a chat between potential associates. It was me wining and dining him like I wanted a piece of his ass. Except, his ass didn’t look that good up close.

Dane leaned in and rapped his knuckles on the tablecloth. He glanced left and right, lowered his voice, and gave me a steely glare. “I’ll level with you, Mr. Price, I don’t think I like the way you do business. There have been some stories about you of late, ones I don’t think match your seemingly sterling portfolio.”

The nerve of the fucker. “The way I do business isn’t a risk,” I replied, evenly. “You’re talking about my personal life, yes?”

Dane’s focus flickered from me to the dram of whiskey, now empty.

“I see,” I replied. “My assistant briefed you on our portfolio. On the companies in which we’ve invested, and those that have made profits.”

“Yes,” he said and tore himself from the glass.

Asshole. I tapped my finger on the silver fork to my left. “When did you speak to him?”

“Pardon?”

“Cooper. When did you speak to him?” I asked. That had to be it. He’d obviously had a meeting with the ass when I skipped out on the last one. To be around Olivia. No, it was for Penny. For Michael.

“It’s none of your—”

I rose from my seat and looked down on the investor, power barreling from me and silencing him, the tables around ours. Every eye in the restaurant trained on me. “I don’t like time wasters,” I said, softly, and the words carried. “Good afternoon.”

His jaw dropped. “Wait—you can’t do that. I wasn’t—Perhaps, I spoke too soon. Mr. Price!” Dane’s words followed me as I wound my way between the tables, out and away. I reached the door and shoved it open, then trundled down the steps without acknowledging anyone around me.

Cooper had moved fast. He’d scooped Dane up before I’d had the chance to woo the fucker, and he’d obviously filled the man’s head with bullshit stories. I growled under my breath and headed for my car—a black BMW parked down the street.

Christ, I’d been stupid.

I’d been distracted, guilty. I’d been obsessed, and not with work or partying for once.

It was Olivia.

It all came down to her.

I could convince myself that it was just the guilt taking me back to her place over and over again, but that was a goddamn lie. She’d done it again. She’d crept into my soul the minute she’d appeared in the Granite Room with a bawling toddler, and I could not get her out.

No amount of fantasies and jacking off in the bathroom would dislodge her.

It came down to one fact and one fact alone.

I hadn’t claimed her yet.

I’d kissed her once and hoped that would do the trick, that I’d be sated and convince myself she was easy, that she meant nothing and I’d get over her, but it hadn’t worked.

Thirty minutes later, I was parked in front of her apartment building, the setting sun casting orange rays on my windscreen. The glare couldn’t block out the blinding truth.

If I wanted to get rid of this addiction to her—this weakness—I had two options. Leave her for good. Leave her in the past. Forget about her, and Penny, and the fact that Michael had been my best friend, that he’d been protective of his daughter and his sister.

Or I could…what? Fuck her and leave her in the lurch? Claim her once and for all and dump her anyway?

I couldn’t do that.

Countless other women had received that treatment from me. They’d known the deal, of course, I’d made it clear, but they’d been one-night stands and nothing more.

I couldn’t do that with Olivia. She probably wouldn’t accept that. She’d want more than I could give.

And therein lay my weakness. The softness.

I was the savage. I was the shark. I was the barbarian.

Except when I caught her peach and vanilla scent. Dangerous distraction. Delicious vixen.

And she needed me.

Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Indecisive prick. Make up your mind.

I couldn’t love her—that part of me was broken—but I couldn’t resist this urge any longer. I wouldn’t resist it.

I got out of my car, slammed the door behind me, and sucked in the city through my mouth and nose. Smog and dirt, and cakes, and home cooking. Cut grass from the park nearby, the sweet smell of flowers.

The car’s lights flashed as I locked it. I headed for the front door and pushed inside, nodded to the ratty blond reception dude, then headed for the elevator. He picked up the phone to make the call upstairs before I’d even reached it.

Didn’t bother me.

Let her know I was on the way. She probably thought I was angry over that idiot woman who’d crashed our little dinner. Maybe she was riled up, too.

The thought of her raging against me turned me on. She’d challenged me from the start.

Out of bounds, my best friend’s little sister, all grown up.

I entered the elevator, hit the button, and spent the short ride up to her floor with my hands balled into fists at my sides. Adrenaline coursed through me.

How many times over the past seven or eight years had I dreamed of this moment? Fantasized about taking it past the kiss, past the delicious flavor of her lips and to the next level?

So many goddamn times I’d lost count.

More times than there were grains of sand on a beach. And in each iteration of desire, it had ended with us together. For more than one night.

That broken part inside me wanted more than this, but I’d fuck her up if I tried.

The elevator doors opened, and I charged down the hall toward her door, past potted plants and paneled walls. I halted and knocked once, squared my shoulders. Not nervous, but ready. The minute she opened that door—

The latch clicked, a creak, and there she was.

Olivia beaming practically from ear-to-ear, her blonde hair loose and framing her face, her eyes sparkling right back at me. She was a collection of textures, silk, smooth skin, soft hair. She was light and oh so ready for me.

“I did it,” she whispered, still grinning.

“What?” I asked, faltering from my examination of her. My woman. My Olivia.

“I put her down without her crying. She even hugged me goodnight. It’s the first time that’s ever happened, Beckett!”

The name I hated. The name that reminded me of my father and his father before him. It didn’t make me angry when she said it. It made me throb. And her joy was a new perfume. It was delectable.

She was edible.

“I can’t believe it,” she prattled on, still shining from the inside out. She tugged on the end of her camisole and her breasts wobbled, the cleavage so enticing I held back a groan. “I thought there wouldn’t be a day when she’d actually let me hold her. Or when she’d let me put her down without her freaking out and screaming.”

“Well done,” I replied.

“It’s huge! It’s amazing. It’s—wait,” she said, and a frown wrinkled her pale brow. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” I closed the distance between us in a step, wrapped my arm around her waist, pulled her to my body, soft against hard again, and pressed my lips to hers.

She stiffened beneath me.

I liked that plush pout, and she opened for me, let me inside at last.

The kiss dissolved into heat and blindness, into wetness. Fuck, she tasted better than I remembered. Her breasts pressed to my chest, supple but for the nipples hardening, pricking at the fabric of her camisole.

My tongue danced with hers, teased and claimed. I sucked her bottom lip then returned to her tongue and sucked that, too, lightly.

Olivia moaned into my mouth. Her hands latched around the back of my neck, and she melted into me. Fucking melted.

She was mine. Finally, after all these years, she was mine.

Olivia had given me nothing but trouble, fantasies, and frustration.

Now, she would give me her soul.