Chapter 21

Cohen

I seethed in my room, pacing back and forth, thinking of Abby and the look of hatred on her face as I pushed her further and further away from me. I told myself that it didn’t matter at all—I was better off without her. Abby was a distraction—from my business, from my life. She seemed to interrupt my every waking thought as well as my dreams. I sighed, running my hand through my hair, and sat down on the edge of the bed. My mind raced with thoughts that I wanted to shut out.

I pulled out my phone, dialing Grayson’s number for an update on Bella and Gregory. I regretted not allowing Abby to speak about what had happened, but I knew it was too late to go to her. There was no way that she was going to be willing to talk to me after the things I’d said.

“Grayson,” he said.

“Hey, it’s Cohen. Got any updates?”

“Yeah, I do,” the detective said. “Gregory Bell and Bella Murray. Looks like they’ve pulled this gig before. Gregory inherited a ton of money from his rich uncle on his mother’s side—or so he says. I think it was another scam.”

I gritted my teeth. “Where did this happen?”

“North Carolina. He got some big house in the inheritance, sold it for a solid two million dollars. The man is filthy rich already.”

“Did you find out anything about his mother?”

“Yeah, get this,” Grayson said. “Your uncle has always lived in that house, right? It’s been in your family since it was built.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, turns out that Ms. Sheila Bell never lived anywhere near you. There was no way she could have carried on a relationship with Paul for as long as Gregory says he has. If she ever went, it was just for a visit. This whole thing seems like a scam to me.”

“I see,” I said. “Is that it?”

“Yep, that’s what I got. Anything else you need from me?”

“I might,” I said. “I’ll keep in touch.”

“Nine hundred an hour,” he said.

“Yes,” I said impatiently, then hung up the phone. I rubbed my hand over my mouth and lay down on my bed, closing my eyes and trying not to think. I had almost dozed off when I heard the crash, the scream that was high-pitched and startled. I flew out of my room and down the stairs to Abby, who was crouched on the floor, her arms over her head. I rushed to her, kneeling down. There was broken glass everywhere and the window was gone, shattered inward.

“What happened?” I asked her.

“Something—something came through the window. I’m not sure what. I was standing right next to it, I—”

“It’s OK,” I said to her, noticing that there was blood on her leg, dripping down it. I looked at her in alarm, instinctively lifting her dress higher in order to see the wound there. There was a small shard of glass sticking out of her skin, the blood dripping down the inside of her knee. I glanced around to see that there was a brick right next to the bed. I picked it up, shaking my head.

“Did you see anyone?”

“No,” she said. “But it was Gregory and Bella. I know it.”

“I’m going to go look for them,” I said, lifting her into my arms.

“What are you doing?” she asked, wiggling against me, something that was infinitely distracting.

“Getting you away from all of this broken glass,” I said to her, meeting her eye as I carried her in my arms to the kitchen. I put her down on the counter. “I’ll be right back.”

“OK,” she said softly, her eyes on mine. I turned away then, hurrying out of the kitchen and into the foyer, out of the house. I peered around but saw no one, though it would be easy for somebody to hide in the surrounding trees. I moved around the house, looking all around, but I saw nobody. I didn’t hear a trace of them either, and after a few moments I went back inside and into the kitchen to find her sitting there, her legs slightly spread as the blood trickled down her thigh.

“I’ll get something to clean it up,” I said to her, turning around to grab a rag and the first aid kit. Her legs dangled off the counter and she stared at me as I moved, her gaze intent and full of heat. I met her eye to see that the angry look was back, that after her shock had dissolved she had remembered our fight.

“I can do it,” she said, reaching for the rag. I held it out of her reach, giving her a look.

“Stop arguing,” I said to her. “Stop fighting with me.”

“I thought you were finished with me,” she said as I knelt down on the floor, my face level with her thighs. I caught a glimpse of her panties when she spread her legs, just long enough to see that they were soaking wet and clinging to her folds, which looked swollen and ready. I glanced up at her face and she glared at me, blushing red.

“Don’t be a pervert,” she said.

“I’m the pervert,” I said, chuckling, taking a pair of tweezers. “You’re the one who’s soaking wet after what, an argument? Does that get you off? That must be why you fight with me so m—”

She cut me off with a look and I had to grin at her, especially when she squirmed on the counter. I placed the rag to her thigh, holding it there, looking up at her face.

“I’m glad I’m finished with you,” she said, although she didn’t sound like she meant it.

“Good,” I said. “So am I.”

“So why are you doing this?” she asked softly.

“Because I don’t want you to be hurt,” I said, looking down at her leg. I pulled the rag back to see that she had stopped bleeding. The cut wasn’t very deep—the glass had been small.

“What do you care?” she asked. I looked up at her face, leaned in and pressed a kiss to the cut on her thigh.

“You know the answer to that,” I said to her. I peeled a Band-Aid open and put it on her cut, and she quickly shut her legs and gave me a defiant look.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she huffed. Before she could jump down, I lifted her off of the counter, my hands on her hips. For a moment after I put her down, she stood close to me, only a couple of inches away.

“I know,” I said to her, wanting to reach forward and touch her cheek, pull her in for a kiss, but I didn’t. Instead, I pulled away from her, glancing away from her face.

“Thanks anyway,” she said in a quiet voice. I could feel her eyes on me, and my jaw went tense with how much I ached for her. I turned away, leaving her in the kitchen, trying not to think about it as I started upstairs to my office. I heard the broken front door creak open and glanced over to see Gregory and Bella standing in the doorway, staring at me expectantly.

“What are you doing here?” I growled at them, hurrying over to the doorway, shoving Gregory backward. I snarled at him when he pulled his arm back, threatening to hit me.

“Get out of here,” I said to them. “She kicked you out. Get out.”

“Not until we work this out,” Gregory said. “My father—”

“Paul is not your father,” I said dryly. “Your mother never lived anywhere near here. There was no way you grew up with him until you were thirteen.”

“You’re wrong,” Gabriel spat. “I’m willing to take a DNA test to prove it once and for all.”

I raised my eyebrow at him.

“You really want to do that?” I asked. I was sure that he was lying—something in his face told me that he was up to something.

“Yes,” he said in a haughty tone, his chin held high. I stared at him for a moment, studying his face, trying to tell whether he was serious or not.

“You go to the lab and you get the test done,” I said. “Once it comes back negative—”

“It won’t,” Gregory said. “And I don’t appreciate you looking into me when I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You’re a fake and a fraud,” I said to him in a dangerous voice. “Now get out of here. I’ll send you the information for the lab.”

“Fine,” Gregory said, turning around and walking away. Bella lingered in the doorway, giving me a flirty look.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay, Cohen? I could stay by myself—”

“No, Bella,” I said to her in a hard voice. She gave a slight pout and turned around, following Gregory out to the car. I watched as they drove away, glancing over my shoulder to see Abby standing in the doorway.

“You didn’t ask them about the window,” she said.

“Why did you kick them out?”

“What were you talking about—about his mom?”

“I had a detective look into him. His mother never lived near here. There’s no way—”

“He offered to do a DNA test.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m not sure why.”

“Maybe he’s Paul’s son, Cohen,” she said. I shook my head, my lips pressing into a thin line.

“It’s not possible,” I said to her, and didn’t let her speak again before I went to her room.

“You can’t stay in here tonight. The maid’s coming tomorrow and she’ll clean up the glass, but you need a new room.”

“So where can I stay?” she asked. I wanted to tell her to stay with me, to drop down to my knees to apologize, but I didn’t.

“You can take your pick of the rooms on the second floor,” I said. “Just don’t take the one right next to mine.”

“And listen to you snore? Not likely.”

I chuckled, shaking my head at her.

“Go to bed,” I said to her. She stuck out her tongue at me, a teasing look in her eyes that made my cock harden at just the sight of it. Then she swept away upstairs, leaving me to stare at her from the bottom of the steps.