“Yeah,” I said, my voice raspy as sandpaper. “That was my brother.”

“Your brother,” Haven repeated, her hands shaking as she looked back at the folder in her hand.

The rest of the men stilled, and no one said anything at first, until finally Sabrina spoke.

“Your twin brother, right, Ethan?”

I nodded and swallowed, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah,” I choked.

The drink I’d had earlier churned in my stomach like a stormy sea. I’d known one day the shit I’d pulled when I was younger would bite me in the ass, but I was unprepared for how hard it would knock me off kilter. Haven and her beautiful wide green eyes, and the heart-shaped face with adorable little widow’s peak, didn’t help. Those eyes that once looked at me so adoringly were now shuttered and hate-filled. Hell, I’d deserved it. I’d brought it on myself. She was in my past, though, or at least until tonight, she had been, but tonight was a vivid reminder that the past resurfacing was somehow beyond my control.

She looked different tonight than the last time I’d seen her. Her hair was straighter, her pale skin flushed pink as she stood in heels that brought her barely to my shoulder height. She glared at me through her black glasses, and the venomous look cut me to the core. I’d managed to push the people I’d fucked over out of my subconscious, knowing that I was working for a greater good now.

My brother had been killed and it hadn’t been accidental.

Fuck.

I knew this, but I didn’t dwell on it. I threw myself into my work and wouldn’t let myself think of Eli. I knew the purpose of our meeting here, why the five of us had been joined together, and yet it was easier to think of what I had to do today than think of the ultimate purpose of why we’d banded together. It was inevitable that I had to face the grief that bubbled and simmered below the surface of my thoughts. Just because I didn’t think about my brother’s death didn’t mean I didn’t feel it. Sometimes it was a soft swell of a wave, making me sway with a memory. And then sometimes, it crashed on me like a tsunami, destructive and uncontrollable.

Eli and I had gone to Yankee Stadium every year. The first time we’d ever come to see a Yankees game, we’d managed to wrangle tickets from a scalper in exchange for counterfeit money, reasoning the game would be over before the guy ever found out, and it’d be worth whatever beat down we got even if he did. He never did find out.

Jesus, I’d been a little shit.

Eli transformed in high school. He’d always been the more righteous one between us, anyway. Even as a kid, his moral convictions would hold him back. Everything changed for him in high school, when he fell in love, and he headed for the straight and narrow. I guess falling in love can do that to a guy. I wouldn’t know.

He’d met Anna in Biology class as a junior and had fallen head-over-heels. She was the daughter of a preacher, a good girl who wore cardigans and skirts. She’d been bullied as the class “nerd,” and he’d defended her honor. He’d gone to fucking youth groups and shit, much to my family’s shock and my father’s chagrin. Then Anna had moved away to Bible school and they’d parted, but Eli never was the same after that. He went from giving up grifting to getting a real, bona-fide job, and he ignored the scorn from my father and, if I was honest, me. Real jobs led to real school, and Eli was the only one in our family who ever went to college. In a total juxtaposition of the hopes and dreams most parents had for their kids, my father disapproved of Eli’s going to school. He’d said Eli thought he was “too good” for us.

Me, I knew better. Eli’s moral compass was ingrained deep, and I never could fault him for that. He was following his own course. And he was my brother. So I gave him shit, but I also gave him my respect.

Hell, if it didn’t make me damn proud of him. We’d even joke about the irony of our emergence into adulthood: I evaded prison with finesse, and he worked at the reformation of criminals. He didn’t just see himself as a corrections officer, but a beacon. He’d see to the training and rehab of those sent to jail and motivate them to do better. I eased my way into sales, hoping my own repudiation of my past would somehow make it disappear. And then, one day, I’d gotten a knock on the door.

Random prison riot, they said. He didn’t make it.

Fuck the way fate played out. If either of us deserved hell and damnation for what he’d done, it should’ve been me, not the brother who’d transformed his life, and lived for the good of others.

This year I’d gone alone to Yankee Stadium, ostensibly to celebrate my birthday. But Eli had been my twin. The tradition was in memory of him. I’d gotten plastered at the game, and given myself the day to mourn the loss of him. By the time I’d sobered, I’d shoved it all back down again.

Until Haven. The beautiful, furious reminder of my past. My crimes. And now, my grief.

I watched as she talked animatedly to the others, her beautiful hands with the long, tapered fingers waving around as she made her point, and my dick grew hard.

Fuck it.

She was as curvy and vivacious as the day we first met, and fuck if watching her talk didn’t make me want her all over again.

Xavier watched her in rapt fascination, and I wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him. Anson, who was predictably sitting next to Sabrina with their knees touching, listened, paying attention to every detail. Walker’s fingers flew over the keys to the laptop he’d fetched, but I knew he missed nothing, and Caelan watched her with eyes filled with empathy and compassion. She was passionate about her work. It showed. But there was another reason they didn’t look at me. I knew this, from my years of people-watching. They gave me space to process through my own grief.

I watched until I couldn’t take it anymore. Hell, I hadn’t heard a word she’d said after Eli Warner anyway. I needed to get Haven alone again, but how? And why the fuck had I lost my mind with her like that in the kitchen? I heard less and less of what they said while blood pounded in my ears. I shook my head. I needed to get my head in the game.

I pushed myself to my feet and walked to bar where we kept a variety of alcohol. Anson and Caelan never touched it, Walker preferred beer, but Xavier would have a few fingers of whiskey a few days a week as he sat in brooding silence. I drank when I felt like it, and when I did, I didn’t much care what it was. I tipped something into a glass and brought it to my lips, welcoming the fiery burn that trailed down my throat and into my gut, refusing to gasp or sputter but forcing myself to master it before I plunked the glass down again and tipped out some more. I wasn’t aware of the rest quieting behind me until I felt a hand on my arm. I blinked up at Anson, his dark eyes looking at me with concern.

“Need you at your best for this, man,” he said in a low voice only I could hear. “You sure that’s the smartest thing to do?” I looked at the glass in my hand, then back at him, and shook him off. These men were like brothers to me, joined in grief and shared losses, united with the unspoken promise that if life or death was on the line, we’d lay down our lives. We knew each other’s darkest secrets, had risked our own asses for each other, and like real brothers, gave each other shit from time to time.

But tonight, they weren’t my brothers. My brother was dead.

It was Xavier, his voice as sharp as a razor’s edge, that brought me back to the present, who reminded me of where we were and why.

“Warner,” he said, holding himself erect on the edge of the sofa, his eyes fixed on me. “Tell us what you know about your brother’s death.” His eyes bore into mine and his voice lowered. “Remember your purpose.”

The Masters all knew the stories of the deaths that brought us together. We’d had to share all in order to move ahead with our investigations. So I knew he wanted me to refresh their collective memories for our purposes tonight, and bring Sabrina and Haven up to speed. The challenge in his eyes brought out the anger in me, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to deck him for his lack of sympathy or thank him.

Remember your purpose.

“Eli and I were raised by a master manipulator,” I said, looking at Xavier and no one else. His ice blue gaze fixed on mine dispassionately, but I knew he took in every detail. “My father was a grifter his whole life. I learned the art from him,” I said, with a mirthless chuckle. “And so did my brother. When Eli was in high school, he decided he’d turn his life around. Be a do-gooder. Make amends for the lies and crimes we’d committed as kids.” Haven stiffened to my left, but I wouldn’t look at her. I could still feel her pulse under my fingertips, her flesh against mine. “Eli became a prison guard, and he was a damn good one. Upstanding. Honest. Trustworthy.”

Everything I wasn’t.

“Then I got news that there’d been a prison riot, and he’d been accidentally killed.”

Xavier nodded, and I took another sip of my drink as his eyes held mine. “Until January, I never suspected it was anything but an accidental death, because my brother didn’t get involved in shit that would’ve made him a target.”

“Well, according to Max, that’s wrong.” We all turned to Haven, who was now looking at me. She stammered a bit under the attention but plowed on.

Good girl.

“He still did nothing to deserve it, except try to get justice for a man who claimed to be innocent. I don’t know Luis, I’ve never even spoken to him, but Max is convinced Luis is telling the truth about being innocent. Eli was trying to right a wrong.”

Xavier crossed his arms on his chest. “Seems we need information about Luis.”

Walker cleared his throat. “Yeah, man, that’s where I come in,” he said, as if reminding Xavier of his existence. “I ran Luis’s name and got a million hits. It’s all here in the open, every detail of his arrest and trial. Everywhere. Dozens of articles that say the same things. Almost too much information, if you know what I mean.”

“No,” Sabrina said curtly. “I don’t know what you mean. Let’s hear it.”

“A surplus of information could indicate someone wanted others to draw conclusions,” Haven filled in, then she looked at Walker to confirm this.

“Si, mamita,” he said, with an approving grin. My hand curled into a fist without my approval. The bastard would not flirt with her right in front of me. I took another sip of my drink, pushing hard to maintain my cool.

“There are a dozen newspaper articles defaming him when he was arrested and jailed. A little bit of an overkill for a man they say was the son of a storekeeper, no? He wasn’t a power player—no money, no connections. He had a variety of minimum wage jobs but kept his nose clean. According to what I see here, he grew up on government assistance, free lunch at school, raised by a single mother when her husband passed on, and on his twenty-first birthday he was arrested for the rape of Carmen Bianchi.”

Murmurs went up around us.

“Bianchi. Son of a bitch,” Anson muttered. “The Bianchi family owned Silver.”

Walker looked at Haven. “Silver was the bar where Anson’s mother worked before she was killed,” he explained. “Directly before her death, we have reason to believe she was attempting to blackmail one of her bosses, and we can’t prove it, but we believe the Bianchis might have been involved in her death. And we also believe that the Bianchi family is directly tied to Sabrina’s father’s death and Max’s imprisonment, as well.” I could tell he wanted to say more, but needed to know if he could trust her, so he stopped there. He didn’t tell her that all of us had shared losses that were somehow connected, and that we’d only just begun putting the pieces together.

Xavier made a low sound of disapproval, and I knew he didn’t want to share more than necessary, not now. We’d get what we needed from Haven and help her out, because it was the next course of action we had to take in our own investigation as well. But we had to stay focused on what was at hand. Hell, I’d been exposed enough tonight. For once, I was on the same page as Xavier.

“Right,” I interjected. “So Luis was arrested for raping Carmen Bianchi.”

“The Bianchis are trying to make a name for themselves in organized crime,” Haven said, her eyes widening. “I know of the Bianchi family, and that must be the connection that made Max believe you guys could help him. What else did you find on Luis?”

Walker flicked from one browser to the next. “No one in the media tried to clear his name, and there was no conflicting evidence. Usually in cases like this we have those who think he’s innocent and those who think he isn’t. This is nothing but an inflated volume of articles pointing to his guilt. There’s a lot of articles here, but it’s all the same information.”

“A smear campaign, then,” Haven concluded, and Walker nodded grimly.

“Except for this. An article on his parish website regarding a candlelight vigil Saint Marco’s held the night of his arrest, and comment after comment on the article that say he was framed. But they were deleted from the website and stamped out in the public records.”

Haven’s brows drew together. “And yet you have access to them how?”

“The less you know about that the better, Ms. Wright,” Xavier interrupted. “For now, let’s focus on what we know.”

Haven sat up straight, and as I watched her stunningly beautiful eyes focus on Xavier, my gut clenched. I wanted to get her alone. Away from the rest of them. I had no claim on her and yet my instinct said otherwise. My grip tightened on the glass on my hand, as I watched her address him.

“My conclusion? Luis knows something about the Bianchi family—maybe he saw or heard something he shouldn’t have—and was punished for his knowledge by being framed for rape. There’s a reason they’ve kept him alive, though, because anyone who actually raped a Bianchi would’ve had his throat cut before he’d ever set foot in a courtroom. He shared what he knew with your brother,” she said, her gaze coming to mine before returning to Xavier. “His death wasn’t accidental, but a show of power to Luis, another threat, if you will, to keep his mouth shut.”

“We need to get to Luis,” Caelan interjected. “We need information from him.”

Haven nodded slowly. “He isn’t my client, so my hands are tied there.”

“We’ll find a way,” Anson said with conviction, eyes meeting mine. Anson was our master thief, and he found a way to do anything he fucking wanted. I manipulated people; he manipulated things. Together, we’d get what we needed.

Haven nodded and got to her feet, wincing slightly. What the fuck was that about? Was she in pain? “I will see what I can find and come back to the rest of you with what I know, and we’ll have to take it from there.”

Anson shook his head. “You think that’s safe?” he asked. “Do you have any idea how powerful the Bianchi family is? They catch wind you’re digging around, and you’re next. You know that, don’t you?”

Her eyes widened, and I wanted to pull her into me, tell her it would be okay. I’d protect her. How? I hadn’t a fucking clue, but I’d find a way.

The Bianchi family stopped at nothing to get what they wanted. They’d come after Sabrina a few months prior without even thinking about it, when they suspected she had information that incriminated them. Anson had saved her life, and we’d brought her to safety. Walker had pulled some seriously impressive hacking to make the Bianchis think all the evidence they’d suspected Sabrina possessed about her father’s connection to them was destroyed. But now they were back on our radar, threatening someone else I cared about.

I’d had enough. Fuck her anger, and fuck what the others thought. I’d screwed her over. My brother was dead, and for the first time tonight, I now knew who to blame. I’d be damned if I let her walk into the lion’s den.

“Meeting’s over,” I said, getting to my feet. “We know enough for now. We’ll look into what we need to,” I said, with a nod to Walker. “And Anson’s right. We need to make sure you’re safe, Haven.”

Her eyes flamed at me, her jaw clenching, and her hands curled into fists. There was a world of things she wanted to say to me but couldn’t, but hell if her defiance didn’t turn me on at the same time it made me want to spank her ass.

Xavier stood, inhaling a deep breath, before he exhaled and faced Haven. “Thank you for telling us what you know, Ms. Wright. We all have to think more on this before we meet again.” He turned to me and jerked his chin up. “Ethan will see you home.” I owed the asshole one. “Just make sure you get your ass back here so we can have a talk.”

It was really shocking how much I risked my ass for the prick.

Sabrina stood and led Haven with me to the elevator. “It was nice to meet you, and I look forward to seeing you again,” she said.

Haven nodded and faced the room. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch with what I know.” She turned to me, a fake smile on her face. “And there’s no need for me to have an escort.”

Ha. Cute.

“I didn’t ask,” I said, and without another word, grabbed her hand and pulled her into the foyer.

“Take your hands off of me,” she hissed, as the doors to the elevator slid open and I slid my keycard in. I released her hand and turned to face her.

“I was an asshole earlier, Haven,” I said. “Not gonna lie. I know I was, and I’m sorry.”

I waited for her to snap back or say something cutting, but her mouth simply dropped open before she shut it again and turned away from me. She said nothing in reply and didn’t look like she was planning on saying anything, either. We rode the elevator in silence for a moment before I continued.

“But if we’re in this together, I’m not gonna let you do stupid shit. Going home alone? When we know people might be watching you even as we speak? Classifies as stupid shit.” She literally turned her whole body away from me and crossed her arms, like a three-year-old having a tantrum. I shrugged. She had every right to be pissed at me. Didn’t mean I’d find out her client had connections to the Bianchi family, then let her walk out into the night alone, for fuck’s sake.

I had a whole lot of shit to make up for, and if there was any way I could make amends, it would be like this. Keeping her safe, whether she cooperated or not.

The doors slid open, and she marched ahead of me, but it was kinda pathetic in those ridiculous heels of hers. I’d hail a taxi. Easier than getting one from our fleet of cars. She pushed through the entryway door, though, seemingly intent to leave me in the dust. With her being handicapped in a shitty pair of shoes and me being at least eight inches taller than she was, matching her stride was easy.

“More work to do tonight, Ms. Wright?” Anger began to simmer just below the surface. She’d just told me my brother had been killed in prison, and I’d already apologized. All I wanted to do was make sure she got the fuck home all right.

“Haven,” I barked out, as I stepped in front of her. “Stop.”

She looked up at me and crossed her arms on her chest. A fine trace of perspiration dotted her forehead, and her hair stuck to her forehead, her top clung to her like plastic wrap, all jumbled and wrinkled. I wanted to smooth it out with the flat of my hand, then use the same hand to smack some sense into her luscious ass. The taxi I hailed pull up to the curb.

“That’s our ride,” I said, confirming it with the driver. “Get in.”

Without a word she slid in and scooted as far away from me as she could, so much so it was almost comical. I rolled my eyes heavenward, then made eye contact with the driver, a young guy with a ball cap on backward and curly hair peeking out from under it. His brows rose, and he mouthed something to me. I didn’t catch the whole gist of it, but definitely noted the word doghouse.

Hell, yeah, I was in the doghouse. Jesus, I was in the fucking kennel.

He blew out a breath and shook his head. “Where to?” he asked, looking over his shoulder to Haven.

She looked from him to me and then straight ahead. “25928 Cobblestone Terrace, Harlem,” she said. The driver blinked, then nodded and turned back around, pulling into the busy street.

“Glad you called for a ride,” he said. “There was a shooting there last week. Bet you know about it, though, seein’ as you live there?”

She nodded and looked out the window. “Glad your man here’s escortin’ you, too.”

She opened her mouth as if to correct him, then slammed it shut and apparently decided not to speak to him.

“Not a lotta men’ll guard women these days,” he said. “You know, chivalry is a lost art.”

Haven inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly, then turned to face the driver. “Do a lot of taxi drivers insert themselves into personal relationships?” Then her cheeks pinked as if she suddenly realized what she’d just said. I bit back a grin, when it became clear to me that she’d called what we have a relationship.

Mentally thanking the driver, I shook my head. “Not in a relationship, man. And I think the lady would prefer to keep things to herself.” He met my eyes in the rearview mirror, and there was kinship there. He’d given me an in with her, and I appreciated it.

We drove in silence, and I wondered how I would approach things with her. I was the one sent in to read people, to understand how best we could manipulate a situation to bring us to where we needed to be. I didn’t know how I was supposed to actually handle this kinda shit for real.

We finally pulled into her neighborhood, and I was a little taken aback by what we saw. He wasn't exaggerating. This place was a shit hole.

I handed the driver money, then pushed myself out of the air-conditioned car into the humid night air. God, it was hot as hell out, one of those rare nights in New York where the humidity didn’t lessen when the sun set.

“Ethan, please,” she said, coming around to my side of the cab. “I really don’t need you here with me.”

"Do you want us to help you get Max out of prison?”

She nodded her head and blew out an exasperated breath. “Of course, I do. Don’t be ridiculous,” she sputtered, fumbling in her bag for her keys.

“Then I come with you. For Christ’s sake, I just want to make sure you’re not followed or some such shit. And anyway, listen to me. I said I was sorry. Are we gonna make up and put this behind us so we can do what we need to, or what?”

She was starting to really get on my nerves. A cluster of teenagers smoking cigarettes stood to the left of the door, smoke billowing out in front of us. One pushed the other and they hooted and guffawed, and none even attempted to stop as we neared. She ignored the catcalls as we walked past, and her cheeks once more bloomed with embarrassment. My blood boiled, and I wanted to kick their asses. Behind one entryway, a couple groped in the door with no regard to who saw them.

“This is the entryway to my home, Mr. Warner,” she said. “Thank you for your completely unnecessary intrusion of personal space and professional deference. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be letting myself in. I’ll be in touch with you tomorrow as soon as I get any new information or ideas.” She turned and stumbled. I reached for her elbow and steadied her. As soon as my hand touched her skin, the same electric vibe hummed between us. I ignored it, tamping down the anger and arousal that galloped through my veins, righting her.

She shook her head, her hair curling around her forehead and sticking to her damp skin, and tried to push me off, but then took a real stumble, sprawling onto the sidewalk. I reached for her, but I was too late. She fell, both hands skidding on the concrete, her skirt riding up, knees scraping on the walkway. Shit!

I got to my knees and picked her up. Jesus, she was a bloodied wreck.

“Jesus,” I muttered. “Babe, you’re a mess. Give me the keys and I’ll help you in, and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

She shook her head, her eyes clouded with tears, but I reached for her chin when she tried to pull away.

We were done playing around with this.

“You listen to me,” I said evenly, my voice controlled, grip just tight enough that she was forced to meet my eyes. “There was a time when you did that. Remember, Haven?”

She nodded, wincing in pain. I couldn’t help but soften my approach. She was a good girl, deep down inside, and she hated me for what I’d done. Hell, I could hardly see her scratch her knees without wanting to make it better. Now I needed more, so much more. I needed her to know how sorry I was.

“Max Pederson sent you to us because we can help you. The Masters sent me here with you tonight because you and I have a past. This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to hand me your keys, and I’m going to bring you inside. I’ll help you get cleaned up, and then I’m going home. And tomorrow, we’ll deal with whatever else we need to. Understood?”

She swallowed hard, nodded, and reached for her keys. Still, I held her chin. “Stop fighting me, Haven. That does neither of us any favors.”

Her eyes dropped to her bag and she fumbled for her keys, retrieved them, and handed them to me. I released her chin, took her gently by the wrist, and helped her to her feet. “Step out of those goddamned shoes,” I half-growled. Hell if I’d let her fall again on my watch. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then tried to wriggle out of the shoes, wincing in pain.

Knowing she was going to fight me but seriously not giving a shit, I braced myself for her indignation, dipped down, and hoisted her into my arms.

Predictably, she struggled against me. “Ethan. Oh for God’s sakes, you have to play the hero! Put me down.”

“No.” I walked a few steps to her entryway door and read the numbers. “One on the left?”

She sighed and nodded. It was a stark, chocolate-brown metal door, but she’d fixed a little wreath made of twisted branches on the outside. The door swung open, and I carried her in. Quickly, I scanned the room, and eyed a small loveseat in one corner of the room. I stepped over the entryway, shut the door behind me, and walked to the loveseat, gently lowering her down. “First aid supplies in the bathroom?”

“Seriously, Ethan, you really don’t have to—”

“First aid supplies in the bathroom?” I repeated, insistent.

She nodded. It was easy to find my way to the bathroom as I could practically walk the length of the entire apartment in four long strides. The walls were painted a stark white, and the carpeted hallways threadbare, but she’d done what she could to make it homey. A small, oval-shaped glass dish held shells in on a ledge in the bathroom, and the pretty, pale green towels matched. The entire place was impeccably neat and smelled fresh and clean. Anger roiled in my belly.

She deserved better than this.

I opened the cabinet beneath her sink and found a small basket of bandages and first aid supplies, smack dab next to a box of tampons. You’re invading her privacy, the voice in my head warned. I swallowed hard, knowing this had to be hard for her, to come from the penthouse where I lived and have me see her simple home. I grabbed the first aid kit, and walked back to her, oddly humbled.

“You okay?” I asked, my voice husky.

“Fine,” she whispered, turning her head away.

I ripped open a small antiseptic towelette and lifted her hand, placing the back of her hand in mine so I could clean her palm. I was as gentle as possible, and she still winced. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, more for what I’d done to her in the past, than the pain I couldn’t help causing now. She said nothing, and I could see she was fighting tears, but she didn’t want to give into them. “God, that must hurt.” I spoke as gently as I could. Something had come over me that was oddly unfamiliar, a sort of fierce yet tender need to make things better for her.

How else could I avenge Eli’s death? How else would I ever make things right?

“I’m sorry,” I whispered again, as I bandaged first one hand, then gently doctored the other. “God, Haven. I’m so sorry.” She knew as well as I it was more than her injuries I apologized for, but she didn’t want an apology for what had happened nine years ago. She needed for me to prove I had changed, and I knew it.

Next, I tended her knees, treating them as gently as possible, and when I finished, I noticed her bare feet were an angry red, especially the little toe on each foot.

“What the hell happened to your feet?” I asked. I didn’t think she’d injured them in her fall.

“It’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head.

Kneeling in front of her, I fixed her with a look meant to extract the truth. She huffed out a breath. “My shoes are too small for me. They’ve been killing me all day.”

“Those fuck-me red ones?” I asked.

Her eyes narrowed. “They’re not fuck-me anything, asshole.” Somehow the bright green flash of her eyes behind her glasses was fucking adorable, and I needed to kiss her. “They’re respect me heels.”

I bit back a snarky retort as she pushed her hands on the couch to sit up straighter, then winced in pain.

“For God’s sake, take it easy.”

Her eyes once more filled with tears, and it was that final sign of pain from her that did me in. I wouldn’t take advantage of her. Fuck me, I wouldn’t. But God, I’d do what I could to make her forget it a while.

I took her ankle in my hand, kneeling in front of her, and gently slid my thumbs over the tender skin. “Does that hurt?”

“No,” she whispered, “my ankle’s fine. It’s just my... knees and palms.” I felt a little tremor run through her. Slowly, deliberately, I leaned in and brushed my lips against her soft skin.

“I’ll kiss it better,” I breathed. All of it. Her sadness. Her pain. The hurt I’d inflicted.

When my lips touched her, a thrill ran down my spine. Her fingers raked through my hair, making my cock harden, a tendril of electric arousal zinging through my core.

Still holding her tight, I lowered my mouth to the valley between her breasts, and kissed her there, the sound of her swallowing making me close my eyes as I fucking worshipped her breasts with little kisses and suckles, moving my hands slowly up her sides.

I needed more. Her legs wrapped around my body as I moved in closer, wove my fingers around the back of her neck, and pulled her mouth to mine. When I kissed her, the past and present collided. I was no longer Ethan Warner, full-grown man and master manipulator, but the young kid whose life held no meaning outside the next swindle. Fuck that. My kiss went from tentative to flaming as I leaned her back on the couch, my tongue tracing along the edge of her full lips before I took her lower lip between my teeth. She gasped, and I climbed on the couch, careful not to hurt her.

I lowered my body to hers gently, kissing her with purpose, her taste addictive. She tasted sweet, like spun sugar and sunshine. Her hands moved up my sides and cradled the back of my head, pulling me closer. I didn’t question why she gave herself over like this. I could hardly form a thought. The next thing I knew, her wrists were pinned in my grip, and she no longer held me.

I would dominate this woman. I’d erase the memory of our past with the scorching present. I knew in that moment there would be no making her mine. She already was.

Her knees parted and bent, so slightly it was barely noticeable at first, but when her skirt had ridden up way too high, I could see the faintest trace of pale pink satin. In a daze, I lowered my mouth to her thigh and kissed her, the scent of her arousal wafting over me. I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and suckled the sweet, warm skin.

She arched beneath me, as my hands slid upward, cupping her body in my palms. I kissed a trail up one leg, then the other, spurred on by the grip of her fingers in my hair, the little moans every touch of my mouth elicited, her scent and beauty. I kissed the very top of her thigh, then swiped my tongue along the edge of her skirt before I moved upward, yanking her skirt up. There was no manipulation in this. There was no conscious thought. I was stripped to fundamental need. I lowered my mouth to her satin-clad mound and kissed her, the warmth of my breath on her panties making me feel hazy and drunk. Her fingers tightened in my hair.

I’d make everything up to her, and that started now. I would show her how sorry I was without uttering a word. I pushed the tip of my tongue firmly, dividing her slit through the fabric, spurred on by her little moans and gasps as I teased and suckled. I wanted her so primed that when I licked her bare, she’d come undone.

She gasped for air and whispered a broken, “Ethan.”

Forgive me, I thought, pulling down the sweet pale satin. Her hips rose, helping me strip her, as I tugged her panties slowly down the length of her legs. I lifted one foot, then the other, before I parted her legs and lowered myself down to her pussy. Holding her ass in my hands, I drew my tongue lazily along her slit. Her whole body stilled, and she stopped breathing, but her fingers wove through my hair. Rocking my tongue back and forth in a steady tempo, I squeezed her ass cheeks in my hands, then drew my tongue along her clit with the barest whisper of a touch, until her body tightened, her breath hitched, then she hissed out a breath, her back bowed as her climax ripped through her. I rode her sweet and steady, letting her take pleasure in this, until she fell back on the couch, panting. I kissed first one thigh, then the other, before I pulled her panties back up and righted her skirt.

“Yeah?” I whispered, leaning down and giving her a hug. I held her for only a second before she let me go.

“You have to leave.” She pulled away, turning her face from me, and I knew I had to respect this resistance if we were going to accomplish anything at all. There would be a fine line between give and take between us. With effort, I pushed myself off her, but before I did, I brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. I stood, and she swung her legs around, straightening her skirt. Her hair clung to her cheeks, her pupils dilated, her clothes rumpled and cheeks a gorgeous shade of deep pink. It took everything in me not to take this further.

“You... sure you don’t need me to call a doctor?” I asked, still tasting her on my lips. I ignored how my cock stirred.

“God, no,” she said, looking away. “It’s just a few scrapes. I won’t even notice it tomorrow.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Just be careful.”

“I’m fine, Ethan,” she lied, her wavering voice giving her away, and her voice was barely a whisper when she begged me. “Please go now. You’ve had your moment of heroism. You’ve… apologized for your behavior today. And seen for yourself that no one’s followed me home. You’ve seen my humble abode. Seriously, now it’s time for you to go.”

Her eyes went from heated to reserved once more and I suspected she regretted her moment of weakness. I was okay with that. I knew what I wanted. And I knew it would take time.

“Go, Ethan,” she whispered.

“I didn’t come here to see where you lived or any shit like that.”

Her eyes flamed then, no longer pleading, but angry. It would take a hell of a lot more to earn her forgiveness, this I knew. “Go.”

“Fine,” I huffed, then turned to her. “Can I at least help you to your room or something? I mean, what are you gonna do, crawl to bed?” Christ.

“What exactly are you trying to accomplish here? I know who you are. I know what you’ve done. If you think for a minute, you’ll ingratiate yourself—”

“God, no,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re right. It’s time for me to go. You’ve got my number?” She shook her head. I pulled out my cell phone. “Yours?”

She gave me her number, and I programmed her into my phone, then dialed.

Adorably, she picked it up when it rang. “Hello?”

“There,” I said into the speaker. “Now you have mine. Have a good night, Haven. Oh, and one more thing? You do not leave this place by yourself tomorrow. I’ll send a car to get you in the morning.”

Her eyes met mine across the room. Huffing out a breath, her gaze was anything but angry, as if she was pleased with my request but had to save face by resisting. “Can you do me a favor and grab my heels before you go?”

“Fuck no. I’m trashing those.”

She hung up the phone and glared. “You will not!”

“Stop me,” I said, opening her door. “You deserve better than those anyway.” I’d get her another pair. I slammed the door behind her, grabbed the shoes still tipped haphazardly on the walkway, and tossed them in a nearby barrel. Hell, she deserved better than me.

* * *

When I got back to the penthouse, they were all waiting for me. Sabrina had fallen asleep with her head on Anson’s shoulder, Caelan sat in an overstuffed chair with his book open, Walker was playing a game on his tablet. Xavier sat in the chair he sat in the very first day I’d met him, a drink in his hand, his tie loosened. They all looked up to me when I entered, and Sabrina blinked herself awake.

“We have to talk,” Xavier said, his jaw clenched as the door to the foyer opened. For the umpteenth time that night, I ran a hand through my hair, then nodded my head.

“Hell yeah, we do.” I sat down on the couch next to Walker and slumped in the chair. “It’s time you know what I did to Haven Wright.”

I’d own it. Then I’d make it better.

“When I was a twenty-one-year-old dumbass, I dated her. She was nineteen, and I seduced her. I was her first.” I shook my head. “She wasn’t mine.” I wasn’t sure why I shared this and yet it seemed relevant. “I was part of a major scam operation that promised a high-yield annuity, payable when they reached retirement age. Essentially, we swindled people out of their savings and retirement plans.” I wasn’t proud of this shit, preying on the innocent. There were some people who deserved what they got, but the Wrights didn’t fall into that category. “That’s how we met. Her parents had been targeted by the guy I worked for, and I came along for the ride. I won her trust, and that helped win her father’s trust, too. We got into her parent’s accounts. Got their money. I took her fucking virginity, and when the operation was done, I dumped her.”

I expected them to condemn me, at least Sabrina since the others knew I’d had a fucked-up history. Grifters always did. But she just looked at me with wide, sad eyes. Maybe she read repentance in my eyes. Maybe they all did.

“So she blames you for her parents’ losses?”

“She blames me for a helluva lot more than that, and she’s right to. I helped rob her parents blind. But she’s convinced I took advantage of her. Took her virginity as part of the plan. And it wasn’t. The truth is, I fell hard for her. Hurt like hell to walk away. And it made me take a good, long look at what I’d been doing.”

“Yeah, dude,” Walker interjected. “Did some digging while you were gone. She makes an okay salary for this area? But she pays a mortgage, and the mortgage ain’t hers, man. She lives in a tiny, shitty apartment.”

Jesus.

“Yeah.”

“That was in your past, Ethan,” Sabrina soothed. “I’m sure she’ll find it in her heart to forgive you, when she sees who you’ve become, how you’ve changed.”

Would she? And even if she did, how would I forgive myself?