M ichelle leaned against me, snuggled up to my chest, her breath soft against my skin .

I couldn't feel the racing of her heart anymore, but it had pounded in rhythm with mine for the past several minutes. We both needed a shower, and every time I shifted my weight, glass crunched under my feet .

I had to clean that mess up so she didn't cut her feet again .

We also had to talk more. I was under no illusion that this was just...done .

I'd fucked up big time, and I needed to make sure she understood how sorry I was. Trust...hell, I wasn't sure if I even knew how to trust people any more .

I hadn't trusted anybody in years. Not the few casual friends I had, definitely not my clients, even the ones I was friendly with. Not even my family .

Not that there was much of that left .

Thinking of them hurt, and I closed my eyes, turning my face into Michelle's neck as memories came flying at me. But I didn't push them back behind a wall as I normally did .

Trust.

She'd trusted me .

Maybe it was time I did the same .

* * *

"Y ou know, when I first moved to New York, I didn't have much in the way of money," I told Michelle as I adjusted one of the water jets of her shower so the spray reached me. I used my body to block it so it wouldn't hit her and hooked my arms over her shoulders .

She tipped her head back, watching me with somber eyes .

"But if I had, I would have gotten a place just like this, all because of the shower ."

A ghost of a smile lit her eyes. "You got eyes on my shower, Jake?" she asked .

"Absolutely." The need to keep things light for the next few minutes was paramount, as my mind ticked away all the little things I needed to do, how I should tell her, what I should tell her – all of it – but where to start ?

She'd let me wrap a blanket around her shoulders earlier while I cleaned up the glass, then I'd gotten her little robotic vacuum out and set it to clean the floor, hoping it would get anything I missed. I'd seen the little gadget on one of my previous visits and decided to give it a whirl. She told me not to worry about it, but she already had one bloody gash on her foot. I didn't want another .

Michelle was already walking gingerly, but she hadn't let me look at her foot again when I asked. I didn't know if it was because it was hurting still, or if there were other reasons .

I was determined to talk her into letting me clean it out. I knew there was a first aid kit in the closet. I'd seen it when I got towels, and I had every intention of taking at least one look to make sure it wasn't still bleeding .

"The shower was one of the selling points, I'll admit. The entire bathroom, really. I love the tub." She glanced off to the side where a sunken tub sat tucked into one corner. "To be honest, I like it more than the shower, although I don't use it as much as I'd like ."

"I could have run you a bath," I said. Seeing her in bubbles and nothing else wouldn't have been a hardship .

"I'm fine ."

The tension between us was going to kill me .

She was feeling it too, and when I went to wash her hair, she nudged my hands away, taking over the task. Feeling out of place with a woman wasn't my normal, but then again, I didn't typically fuck up with women like I had with Michelle .

I didn't do a lot of things like I had with Michelle .

She slid out of the stall before I did, moving gingerly on her foot, and I twisted off the controls for the water without washing my hair. I had other things on my mind besides hygiene, and she was currently lowering herself to sit on the toilet so she could check out her foot .

While she did that, I slung a towel around my hips and got out the first aid kit. She paled at the sight of it .

"You don't much like doctors, I'm betting ."

"You're not a doctor," she said, her tone going waspish .

"No. So you shouldn't have a problem letting me take a look then clean it up." Giving her the same charming smile I used the night we first met for dinner, I hunkered down in front of her. The towel didn't hold up to the strain, but I ignored it as it fell .

Her eyes dipped. "You lost your towel ."

"I don't need it to check out your foot," I said, wrapping my fingers around her ankle .

She didn't resist, but I wasn't sure if I was because I was now naked or if she didn't see the point in fighting. I wasn't going to question it though and hurriedly examined the cut before cleaning it with a wipe from the box, then dabbing it dry with a piece of gauze. The only band-aid big enough to cover it was huge, coming up over her heel on both sides, but at least it was covered now. The bleeding had stopped, and when I finished, I looked up to meet her eyes. "Did I hurt you ?"

"Yes," she whispered .

"I'm sorry." I rubbed my thumb over her ankle. "I tried to be careful ."

"Not with that." She looked away but that didn't keep me from seeing the tear that broke free to roll down her cheek. "I know this was all supposed to be sex, but it ended up being more for me. I know it's stupid, and you don't have to worry about –"

I cut the words off with a kiss, plunging my fingers into her hair and angling her head back .

She sagged against me, and I had to fight the urge to pull her to the floor with me, bury myself in her, over and over again. It ended up being more for me ...

The words echoed inside me and I broke the kiss, pressing my forehead to hers .

"It ended up being more for me too, Michelle. That's what scared me. That's why I acted like such a dick ."

She blinked, a flicker of disbelief, followed by confusion lighting her eyes .

I went to elaborate, but decided this wasn't a conversation I wanted to have in a bathroom. I rose, then swept her up into my arms, ignoring her when she tried to tell me to put her down. "We're talking," I told her. "And we're not doing it in the bathroom ."

We ended up in her bedroom, because she was shivering slightly, and I wasn't exactly warm. I took the towel she had wrapped around her and used it to dry her hair before giving mine a cursory rub and tossing it over the foot of the bed. "This was just supposed to be sex," I said, sliding into the bed and pulling her up against me. "That's all this was supposed to be for both of us. I know you were getting ideas for your articles. I was able to be with a woman who wasn't paying me for it...we both got something. But it ended up being more for me too. You got in my way, Michelle ."

She sat stiffly against me, even after I lapsed into silence, waiting for her to ask what I was talking about .

But she didn't .

"Aren't you going to ask ?"

"I imagine I got in the way of you being able to do...whatever you do. Like being the King of the Multiple O, I figure. Otherwise you wouldn't do it ."

For a second, I didn't know how to reply to that. Eyes closed, I sat there. There was a padded headboard, and I dropped my head onto that as I tried to think .

"I ended up with that stupid nickname because I was good at fucking, Michelle. And I'm a good whore ."

I sensed her entire body flinch .

Opening my eyes, I caught her chin and guided her face around until she met my gaze. "What?" I asked bluntly. "That's what I am. I have sex for money. You can change it up or make it sound prettier than it is – a male prostitute, a gigolo, an escort – but I have sex with women for money. It started out because the only jobs I could get were odd ones that paid under the table, and when a few women made it clear they wouldn't mind paying me to give them a good time, I was tired of scraping by so I went with it. But whether you put a pretty tag on it or not, it doesn't change what I am. I'm a whore ."

"You're more than that," she said softly .

"Not much." Disgusted with myself, I let her face go and wondered who in the hell I was fooling .

Michelle turned around then, facing me. As I sat there, she threw one leg over my hips and cupped my cheeks, studying me with shadowed eyes. "You're my friend. And although it was wrong what you accused me of, you were pissed off for another woman you care about. Your heart was in the right place, even if you were an ass about it ."

She sighed and leaned in, rubbing her lips against mine. "And you helped me figure something out. All this time, I've been stuck inside myself, half afraid to live, and I didn't need to be. I didn't figure that out until you came along, Jake. So...thank you ."

"You didn't need me for that," I said, voice raw. Fisting a hand in her hair, I tugged her head back, staring into her eyes. "Everything was inside you all along ."

"But maybe it took you to help me see it." She kissed me again. "Just like I'm going to make sure you understand there's more to you than what you think ."

I wanted to believe that .

Maybe there even could be .

Sighing, I hooked an arm around her neck and tugged her in closer. "There are things I should tell you, Michelle ."

* * *

T he letter was wrinkled and creased from being carried in my wallet for the past couple of years .

The picture of my mother was faded .

Michelle held the picture in one hand, and at some point, she'd pressed it to her heart .

It made me ache, just seeing her like that .

She held the letter in her other hand, reading it .

She flipped it over, then back, then flipped it over again. I think she must have read it five times before she finally put it down and met my eyes. "He never says what he's sorry for," she said softly .

"I know ."

The letter was from Marlon McCrane .

Holding out a hand, I waited for her to return the letter, and I looked down at the words and letters, the familiar scrawl of Marlon's handwriting. "This was the son of Senator Washington McCrane," I said quietly, looking up to meet her eyes. "He died a few years back, but not before he sent this letter to the prison where I was serving my time. I'd just...I got out a few days before the letter got there. It should have been forwarded, but for some reason, my old cellmate ended up with it ."

Rubbing a thumb across one crease, I thought about that phone call the guy had given me, telling me about the letter. I'm going to mail it to you, man. But just in case...I want to read it to you. You should know what's in it in case something happens .

What was in it was a bunch of rambling nonsense, the by-product of a mind destroyed by booze or drugs or both. But one thing that was clear...Marlon felt like he had something to apologize for .

Over and over, he'd written, I'm sorry, man. I'm so sorry .

But I didn't understand just what it was he was supposed to be sorry for .

Not at first .

Later, though, I started to wonder and think. If he had just been in the car, what would he have to be apologizing for? I'd never know, either .

Slowly, I looked up and met her eyes. "I already told you this, I think. But I don't remember what happened the night my mom died." She lowered the picture to look at the image of my mother, her hair falling to obscure her face. "I loved her. Her and my dad. They were good parents. I had a good life, played football. I was a good kid. We were like some sit-com family, just...happy ."

I blew out a shuddering breath .

"I wake up in the hospital and I'm told that my mother is dead. That I'd been driving, and I hit her and killed her. There wasn't a trial, just a plea deal, and I signed it without thinking about much of anything. I just wanted to die. For the longest time after I went inside, that was the only thing I wanted – to die ."

"Jake..." She reached out to me .

I took her hand and kissed the inside of her palm. "Guilt is a terrible thing, Michelle. It will eat you alive. It took me a long time just to be able to look myself in the mirror in the morning ."

Her face was unreadable, and I couldn't even begin to guess at what she was thinking .

I wasn't sure I wanted to know. Not just yet, at least. I was talking about my mother's death and the possibility that I had killed her. That's what I believed for so long. But when I got that letter ...

"You wanted to know why I reacted so bad about Whitley..." I squeezed my eyes closed for a long moment before looking back at her. "I've been watching the McCrane family – specifically Senator Washington McCrane for a very, very long time ."

"Why?" Michelle's eyes were confused .

"Because the only other person who knows exactly what happened the night my mother died was the boy in the car with me...Marlon McCrane ."

Her lashes flickered. "Oh ."

"Yes, Senator McCrane's son ."

"Shit. " She mouthed it, the word making no sound as it escaped her lips. A split second later, she came up off the bed to pace, dragging the blanket with her. I rearranged the other ones around me, watching as her long legs scissored back and forth, one fist clutching the heavy quilt between her breasts. "What..." She finally stopped and turned to look at me. "What did you do, follow him to New York ?"

"No." Shaking my head, I took the letter and folded it into quarters, neatly following the lines that were all but embedded into it at this point. "I had no idea he was a senator in Maryland, or that he spent so much time in New York. Not until I'd been here a couple of years. I only knew him from when he'd come to Texas to visit his son. He could win the absentee father of the year award, showing up on birthdays and holidays, presents all but falling out of his pockets, but beyond that, Marlon might as well not exist ."

"Were you two friends?" she asked .

"Maybe." Jerking a shoulder in a shrug, I answered, "The two of us had what you might call an uneasy friendship. Marlon moved there when he was pretty young, after his parents divorced. His mama spoiled him rotten. Washington, when he came around, seemed to think the only way to parent was to give Marlon whatever he wanted. Sometimes I wonder if his parents had ever told him no in his life ."

Rubbing my temple, I put the letter down on the table in front of me, the memories a tangle inside my head. I'd been the popular kid. Marlon had always just been there. There had been a rivalry between us, but I hadn't realized it at the time. It had taken a period of years, looking back over them to realize just how volatile things had been between us .

How many times had my folks asked me not to hang out with him? How many times ?

I couldn't remember .

They told me he was trouble .

I wouldn't even have gone to the party if he hadn't nagged me into it. I sure as hell wouldn't have been driving a car because my parents had never bought me one .

But he wasn't the one who made me take the first drink, or even the second .

And that was what I told myself over the years. If I'd ended things when my parents told me to, if I hadn't gone to the party, if I hadn't taken that first drink ...

Then the letter came .

"I never could understand what he said he was sorry for." Staring down at the simple rectangle of paper, so simple in appearance, I finally looked up at her. "There was only one thing that made sense ."

She didn't need me to paint her more of a picture .

"Could he have called his dad to...hell, I don't know. Make it go away ?"

"My mother was dead ," I bit off. "There was no making that go away ."

"I know." She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "That didn't come out how I meant it. I just...all of this seems crazy. And scary ."

"Yeah. To you and me both. But in a way, it makes sense." I remembered taking those keys from Marlon. Telling him ...

We ain't driving, man .

I remembered that .

Those were things I hadn't told people. What would it have mattered, with my mother being dead ?

"He wanted to drive," I said gruffly. "I took his keys and told him...I told him neither of us were driving. We weren't in the shape for it. He mouthed off. Took a swing at me. After that, I don't remember anything until I woke up in the hospital ."

My face had been bruised, but I'd been in a wreck. Anything could have caused that .

"Do you think it's possible Senator Washington McCrane helped cover up his son's part in your mother's death?" Michelle asked, coming to kneel in front of me, her eyes earnest .

"I don't know." My gaze flicked to the letter. "And I can't ask Marlon about it, either. He OD'd a few days after that letter arrived at the prison. So whatever secrets he had, he took them with him to the grave ."

She huffed out a breath and sat back on her heels. "Son of a bitch. That's a mess." Slanting a look up at me, she asked, "And there's nobody you can ask now ?"

"No. Save for the senator," I said mockingly. Jerking a shoulder up in a shrug, I added, "There was a kid who was supposed to be in the car with me, but he was killed in a hit-and-run a year later ."

"What a coincidence," she murmured. "Was the driver caught ?"

I met her eyes. "No ."

"Is this why you took Whitley on as a client?" she asked. She cocked a brow at my look. "I know that's what she is. Did you choose her to get back at him ?"

"First, she chose me," I pointed out. "I screen all my clients, and when I realized who she was married to...I could have said no. I elected not to. I thought it would be a good way to get information on him ."

"And while you're doing it, you're banging his wife," she added .

"I think what I do is a bit more than banging," I said bluntly. "And she came to me. Her husband hasn't touched her in three years, and on top of that, she's a lonely woman married to a dick ."

Michelle held up her hands. "Okay, okay..." She still had an odd look in her eyes. "If you say you didn't take her on because of who she is, then I believe you ."

Those words unsettled me, and I wondered if maybe there had been some bigger part of me that had looked to Whitley and wondered if I could use her .

I didn't like that part of me. Not at all .

"Look," I said roughly. "He doesn't give a damn about her, save for the fact that she's beautiful and her parents have connections in DC. He's already made noises about getting a divorce, but he doesn't want to lose those connections ."

As Michelle continued to watch me, I added, "Besides, I like her. She's a nice lady, and she's trapped in a bad marriage. I wouldn't use her just to hurt him ."

"You thought about it, though," she murmured .

"I think about a lot of things. That doesn't mean I'll do them ."

"Okay." She nodded and looked away. "You'll have to find a way to get the truth from him if you ever want to be free of this ."

"I'm sure he's ready to just blurt it out ."

To my surprise, a faint smile curved her lips .

Before I could ask about it though, she said, "Did it ever occur to you that maybe he's the reason people found out about Whitley ?"

"What?"

She shrugged and cast me a quick look. "We tell our secrets to those who matter. Maybe she told him...or somebody close to him, and word got back to him. Maybe he hired an investigator who's been following her, and they know about you. If he wants a divorce, the best way to get it is to paint her in a bad light...and wow, has he done that ."

Mind whirling, I thought about what she said. But then... "No. That doesn't make sense. Whitley said she never told him about the attack ."

"But she told the cops. Her parents. People knew ." Michelle shrugged. "All he had to do was find somebody who did know and who was willing to talk ."