CHAPTER TWELVE
“Epic mistake, or brilliant move. Which one are you?” Veronica asked the email she’d just drafted.
The email on Veronica’s tablet, of course, offered no commentary. Once released into the jungles of cyberspace, the message waiting in limbo in her drafts folder would hopefully trigger two results: reconcile Simon with his sister and get the league’s attention—in a positive way.
“Kill two birds with one stone” was the idiom her father was fond of. But since Veronica still occasionally mourned the first pet finch J.T. and Joan had given her to love and lose, she didn’t prefer the phrase.
Whether her scheme proved worthwhile or backfired depended on Simon’s sister. Last night, it had been child’s play to find Erin Smith online. Everything from her college graduation announcement in The Gunner Chronicle to her YouTube channel and Instagram profile was available for public access. In the time it had taken Veronica to eat chicken chow mein in her kitchen office, she’d found a home organization blog, an email address, and an active phone number registered to Erin.
Just now, in her stadium office, she’d composed a message from her personal email addresses. She’d already gotten through to the right contacts at ESPN, so all she needed to do was scrape up the nerve to hit Send.
Her plan was to get Simon and his sister on an ESPN Films 30 for 30 documentary. Working on the project would retie familial bonds. It would be a story of a young man’s reconciliation with his family, of a quarterback’s redemption. It would be sellable, and the ace he needed to get back on top.
It would be proof that yes, she was that damn good.
And what she and Simon had would end once she helped him get what he wanted. It didn’t seem fair that while she had him in her life, they had to keep it a secret. Selfishly, she wanted to flaunt to the world that—at least for now—he belonged to her.
In times of question, her best friend put faith in semiotics and the metaphysical to point her toward the right path. On the day that Grace had at last accepted Mason Corrine’s marriage proposal, she’d received a “You’ve been preapproved!” offer from MasterCard in the mail and was confident that seeing his initials was indubitably a sign that she should take the plunge.
Veronica set the tablet on her desk to rummage the tray of spiritual stones Grace had gifted her after Veronica’s divorce. Valor. Confidence. Protection. Passion.
She put the tray down. She was okay in the passion department—if this morning’s two-orgasm quickie with Simon was any indication.
A tap on the door snapped her out of a replay of the moves he’d used to leave her feeling wet, sated, and ready to do a touchdown dance. Veronica sat reed-straight in her plush chair and motioned Heather into the office.
“Got the physician’s reports for Shankman and Knowles,” Heather said, approaching the desk.
The owners had called for stat physicals for the second- and third-string quarterbacks following this past Sunday’s loss. Now that the team had reached its bye week, J.T. and Joan were taking the time to regroup and strategize while many rested up.
“Would you forward it, please?”
“Did. Twenty minutes ago.”
Veronica scrunched her face in a frown, realizing belatedly that she hadn’t stopped to smooth the creases away. To prep herself for the last-minute staff meeting at five on the dot, she’d need to review the reports.
She scanned her desk, making sure that she hadn’t printed them already. Neatly organized appointment book. Color-coded directory. Two coordinated calendars.
“It didn’t come through, Heather.”
“Odd. Could it have gone to spam?” Without pausing for an answer, Heather plucked the tablet from the desk and started tapping the screen. “Get this one on its way. Now let’s check your in-box—”
“Heather, that’s not my work tablet—”
“Oh, screw.” Heather lowered the device. “I’m so sorry.”
Veronica reached for the tablet and checked her sent messages. The most recent was from her account to Erin Smith’s. “I…uh…wasn’t ready to pull the trigger on that email yet.”
Heather looked mortified. “I’m going to forward the other one again. Boss, I really am sorry.”
“No worries, Heather.” Veronica’s heart was racing, but whether with dread or anticipation, she wasn’t certain. She spied the tray of stones. Well. How was that for a sign?
After the meeting, Veronica holed up in her office and worked. Nervous jitters did wonders for her productivity, but once every item on her team business to-do list was complete, she—in completely twisted curiosity—opened Minesweeper on her computer.
The fourth game-over explosion had her calling the PR department and summoning her sister to the managers’ wing. A bit of Aly therapy would distract her from dwelling neurotically on the outcomes of contacting Simon’s sister. She hadn’t invaded his privacy; she’d reached out to his family as part of an effort to hold up her end of their bargain. She was just being a good friend.
Chances of him seeing it that way? Slim. But it was a gamble she’d pursued for his sake.
Aly entered the office without knocking. “You rang?”
“God. The Lurch impersonation needs practice.”
“Just getting into the Halloween spirit. All that’s creepy, spooky, indecent, and depraved is up my alley.”
“Yeah…I’d be choosy about who I advertise that to.”
Her sister smirked. “So, what’s the problem? Seriously, you only invite me to your office when there’s a problem. At first, I thought it’d be kind of fun to work in the same building—that we’d hang out in each other’s offices. Sort of like being kids again and visiting each other’s rooms. Oh, except you never let me visit yours. So that leads me to ask you, again, why am I here?”
Well, that came full circle, didn’t it? “I just wanted to chat. But if you’re busy—”
“Not.” Aly had no reservations about making herself comfortable. Gathering provisions from the mini fridge—chips, salsa, and the fluffy pastry Veronica had intended to take home with her—Aly made a nesting spot for herself on a corner of the desk. “Are Mom and Dad still mad at you about the Chance stuff?”
If Veronica were in the mood to be technical, she’d point out that it was she who possessed the right to be mad at them. But the details didn’t matter so much anymore. “Apologies were exchanged and we’re focusing on the team.”
“Then all is well in the king, queen, and princess’s court?”
Princess? As in excluding Waverly and Aly? The words had come out naturally, without even a hint of snark. Only matter-of-factness. Veronica was J.T. and Joan’s favorite daughter; that was always painfully clear even to her. But that, too, was changing. She cleared her throat, yet it still felt constricted. “Everything’s fine.”
“The renovations are almost done on the new place. Mom and Dad insist on staying at the Bellagio until everything is moved in.”
“You don’t sound excited for a twenty-two-year-old who’s days away from having an entire wing of a Vegas lakefront mansion.”
“Eh.” Scoop. Crunch. Crunch. Swallow. “It’s an upgrade. Sort of like going from maximum security to minimum security. Still prison.”
Veronica couldn’t disguise her sigh. Would Aly have the same sentiments if she really knew the gap between wealth and poverty in her own city? “Ungrateful and unfair, Aly. Bad combo.”
“But that’s how I feel about it. Our parents, Waverly, and now you—you guys all act as if I need to be monitored. You want to know where I go, who I’m with, what I do, what I’m feeling. You act as if what I feel even matters. But it doesn’t. People who say I’m important to them don’t ever consult me before they do something. They just do it, and ask later, as an effing afterthought, how it makes me feel.”
“I can’t speak for them. As your older sister, I have a duty—”
Aly snorted “Didn’t your sisterly duty expire on your wedding day?”
“Oh, so there is some resentment there. I thought you were just naturally a pain in my ass.” Veronica reached to swipe the pastry from her sister’s junk food stockpile. “And give me my cream puff. I ate rice cakes and cherries for lunch, holding out for this.”
“Veronica, I’m going to say this calmly, okay? You said ‘I do’ to being Chance’s wife and ‘I don’t’ to being my sister. When Waverly was in college, doing her own thing, it was you and me. Then Chance got in the picture, and you married him without ever asking how it might make me feel to lose you.”
“Aly, that’s a distorted way to see it.”
“Lovely. The lawyer-y talk.” She brushed a crumb from her painted-on checkered pants. “I’m not a kid anymore, though, and the scab fell off that wound eons ago. The point is, I was left to manage my feelings alone then and I can do so now.”
So much for Aly therapy.
Despite the flaring tempers, Aly remained on the desk, putting a decent dent in the chip bag. When Heather knocked, she scarcely glanced up.
“Got a visitor outside,” Heather announced; then she dropped her voice. “I know he’s got a rep for being on the…intense…side, but I’m getting an extremely pissed-off vibe from him.”
“Who is it?” Veronica asked, rising from her chair.
“Simon Smith,” Heather replied.
Aly’s head snapped up, and Veronica watched Heather welcome him into the office. He muttered, “Thank you” to Heather, who beamed as she left. He gave a hitch of his chin to Aly, who inadvertently bit her fingertip while crunching on a chip as she eye-fucked him.
“Veronica,” her sister said, untwisting herself from her perch on the desk, not once losing sight of their visitor, “so that thing you told me to be choosy about who I advertised it to…Can I choose him?”
“No.”
Aly glared at her, deflated. “Then can I have the cream puff?”
Veronica slid the pastry over, which Aly promptly carried off with her.
Closing the door behind her sister, Veronica gathered up the chips and salsa. “Let’s get to it,” she said to Simon. “You’re riled up, and you have a bone to pick with me. Prolonging it isn’t going to get us to a resolution any sooner.”
“Are you fucking serious?” His pitch was so low, so rough, that Veronica paused at the mini fridge. “You piss on my explicit instructions to leave my sister alone, and you talk like it’s business as usual. Gunner, my family, they’re my business—not yours.”
Veronica had hoped that Erin Smith would reply to her before contacting her brother, but she couldn’t blame the woman for being suspicious or alarmed that the GM who’d fired him was interested in resurrecting his career. “I only asked Erin if she’d be interested in meeting with me. She’s a grown woman—you do realize that, right? She’s a home organization guru. I subscribed to her YouTube channel.”
“Veronica.”
“The point is, Erin’s capable of making her own decisions. So…what did she decide? Obviously she discussed this with you.”
“She booked a flight to Vegas.”
“That’s great.”
Simon stepped in front of her to stop her from buzzing about the office. Being on the move was the only way to resist looking at the soul-deep fury and disappointment in his eyes. She’d braced herself for whatever irate words he might sling her way, but she hadn’t anticipated that he would look at her in such a hurt way.
“The safest place for Erin is in Oregon, away from the clusterfuck I made of my own life,” he said. “Thanks to you, she now thinks she has the leverage to make demands. She wants to stick around this city, spend time with me.”
“Which you won’t agree to. No shocker there.”
Simon took a half step, forcing her to move back until her ass encountered the desk. And then she was hemmed in with him leaning toward her, his hands planted on either side of her. “I get to be livid here. You and I can handle the Las Vegas and NFL spotlight. But my parents? They didn’t sign up for this. They never would’ve wanted Erin to follow in my footsteps.”
“That’s up to her to decide now. She’s an adult and seems to think it’s a good idea.”
“It’s carelessness that she can’t afford. She’s on pure desperation, trying to get to me.”
Veronica raised her chin. “Ask yourself why. Then, when you’re ready to apologize to me for yelling at me when I’m only trying to help, ask me why I even reached out to her.”
“That’s a question you won’t get. There won’t be an apology.”
“Riiiight. The Blue-Eyed Badass doesn’t apologize. How could I forget?” Veronica pushed his shoulder, and when the solid muscle didn’t budge and his hot stare didn’t even waver from hers, she shoved hard with the heels of both hands. No effect, as though she were striking a brick wall with a feather.
Veronica’s hands fluttered, searching for some softness, some weakness on his body. The quest only discovered more hard planes, chiseled angles. Her fingers settled behind his neck, interlocked through his dark hair and cradled his head, dragging him into her. Finally, his stare released her.
Because his mouth was on hers.
A kiss didn’t do this—turn a woman inside out, shake her entire being, inject her with a cocktail of euphoria and fear. But his did.
The friction of his tongue stroking hers was enough to make her curl her fingers greedily into his hair. But then he used his teeth, sinking them into her bottom lip with the exact amount of pressure to lure a reveal-all moan from her.
Where the strength to end the contact came from, Veronica wasn’t sure. Slapping her hands against his shoulders, she tore away from his mouth, and he slinked across the room. She watched him as he cast an annoyed look downward at his erection and cursed.
He was frustrated with himself for wanting her. Yeah, she could relate.
Teeth gritted, heart skittering, Veronica growled, “I am not doing this to hurt you. I care, you asshole.” She grabbed the folder with the ESPN Films information, thrust it at him. “This was what I was working on—not that it makes a difference to you.”
Simon took the folder and, without another word or glance, strode away.
Veronica dropped back onto the edge of her desk, scrubbing at her lips as if to wipe the memory of his mouth from her tingling flesh.
“Boss?”
It was a challenge to discreetly lower her hand, straighten her posture, and face her assistant. Heather’s gaze passed over her, and Veronica saw the same note of realization that had sparked in the other woman’s eyes when Chance asked if she recognized the signature on Veronica’s arm.
She knows.
But all Heather said was “If he comes here again…?”
Veronica sat at her desk, closing the Minesweeper game on her computer. “He won’t.”
◆◆◆
Damn it, Veronica. Why couldn’t you let it go?
Protecting his sister from the consequences of his choices by limiting their contact was what he’d done right—of that Simon was certain. Giving up that fight now wasn’t an option. Erin, barely out of college and sheltered all her life, was traipsing into his world—a world where people screwed over their fellow man to hurdle to the top.
Simon dragged his hands through his hair and walked over to his living room windows, which offered a nighttime view of trees. This was as close to remote as a man could get in Las Vegas. Yeah, he’d craved the big city and had wanted to swim with the sharks, but once he’d gotten his wish and the time had come to claim territory, he’d picked a property away from the action. A location that offered the illusion of solitude, rural simplicity, something familiar that he was missing.
Restless, he reached into his pocket, jiggling the keys to his Corvette. He could meet his sister at the airport, put her ass on a flight home, and then what? He could find superficial company at any hot spot on the Strip. But with people like that he’d learned to keep his guard up. If nothing else, being ripped out of his career had helped him filter the double-crossers from the legit friends.
But Veronica had passed that filter as well as the rest of his resistances.
He could get out of Nevada altogether, sample the California women his friend Hurley Rhodes talked about.
But when he pictured the kind of woman who could get him worked up, she was delicate-framed, marched when she moved, paraded around town packing sex dice and massage oil…And she cared. About him.
Simon slowly turned to the folder she’d shoved at him. ESPN Films. A documentary, centered on him.
Did she genuinely care, or would he only be falling further into a game?
Before he could decide one way or another, Samantha showed up on his doorstep, absorbing all the space in his house with her man-trapping outfit, heady “cover up the cigarette smoke” perfume, and loudmouthed laughter.
“Whoa, I hope the wrath sizzling off you isn’t directed at me.” She strolled into his house, swaying her denim-clad ass all the way to his kitchen, where she grabbed a jar of peanut butter from a cupboard, unscrewed the cap, and poked her finger in.
“Double dip in that jar, and it will be,” he said. “That shit’s disgusting. What if I have people over, and they want peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Think they’ll be all right with a touch of Samantha Weatherby’s spit?”
Samantha pulled her peanut-butter-smeared finger from her mouth, making a soft popping sound. “You never had a problem with my spit when you kissed me. Or when I smeared it up and down your cock.”
“I knew what I was getting.”
“If it’s that much of an issue, I’ll replace the whole jar.” A few searches through drawers and cupboards rewarded her with a spoon, which she loaded with peanut butter. “Mmm. And no one I know over the age of thirteen offers peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to guests.”
“It was a what-if.”
“A ridiculous one.”
“Samantha, what’s up with the drop-in? There’s usually only one reason you randomly show up at my place.”
She tossed her pink hair, pinning him with a brazen look. “Can’t a girl veg out with a friend without having some ulterior motive?”
Not when that friend is me and you’re clearly wearing a bra that does phenomenal things for your tits.
It was her get-him-in-the-sack bra. It had never failed.
But there was a first time for everything….
“I think you’re stressed,” she diagnosed, her mouth pursed softly. “Can we park it on the porch? I was in a studio all day. Stir-crazy.” She added a precocious smile. “Any of those Sam Adams Utopias left?”
“So you bought me a gift that you want for yourself.”
“Is it my fault we have the same good taste in beer?” She unwound a gauzy scarf from her neck, already getting herself comfortable. “C’mon. I’m going out.”
Simon let her claim a seat on the porch, then passed her a beer. He remained standing, arms crossed. “Be honest. Did it pan out with the man you hooked up with at that wedding?”
“No. I think, though, that you and I were hasty in calling it quits to our system. It worked for us, you know? It wasn’t broken, so why’d we try to fix it?”
“I’m not backsliding, Samantha. I don’t want that kind of system anymore.”
Samantha paused, peanut butter in one hand, beer in the other. “Unbelievable. It’s happened….” She got up and pointed her bottle at the center of his chest. “Somebody’s unlocked that.”
“Saying my heart was locked up?”
“Mm-hmm. In all our time together, I’ve never been able to jiggle that lock. God knows if I even really tried.” She sighed. “You think some things will never change…and then they do. Everything can change.”
Even an hour after Samantha left, and Simon was at the airport waiting for his sister, he couldn’t shake her words. She’d said his heart was locked, but he’d always thought that it was stone-cold and dead—just like his chances of a reconciliation with his parents. What he’d accepted was a lie, though.
His heart was alive and open to the hurt of Veronica’s deception. Why did it hurt, though? She was just a woman. Dozens had played him before. Why should she be different?
You became different when you fell in love with her, Smith.
Another unwanted thought.
As much as he didn’t want his sister in Las Vegas, Simon was relieved that she appeared in his sights in time to distract him from the realization that he was in love with the woman who’d taken away his career.
“I can get a taxi and go straight to a hotel and talk to Veronica Greer tomorrow,” Erin said flatly, muscling a duffel bag and an equally bulky purse to where he stood semidisguised in a ball cap and sunglasses. “Or I can hug my brother.”
“Get over here, you fucking pest.”
Erin hurled herself at him, squeezing tight the way she had the few times he’d come home. “Are you all right? All I know is what the news and Twitter tell me.”
“It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Don’t be. I’m tougher than you think.” She eased away, swiping his hat and putting it on herself backward. It emphasized the dark makeup lining her blue eyes. “I am hungry, though.”
Simon bought her a soft pretzel and a Coke; then they sat down at a quiet table away from the bustle of passengers.
“You need to go home, Erin.”
“I’ll do that,” she said carefully, “but not before I hear what Veronica has to say about this documentary thing. And not before I tell you…that I’m leaving Oregon.”
“What? The farm’s paid for. It’s where you grew up.”
“I’m signing it over to you, since you’re the one who paid for it. You can sell it and keep the money. Every time I turn around there’s a story about a celebrity selling off his assets because Vegas is too costly. In case you don’t get back on your feet—”
“I’m far from broke,” he told her, unable to kill the smile that tipped up a corner of his mouth. Her concern humbled him. “People claimed I spent my paychecks as soon as I got them, but I didn’t. The farm was a gift. Yours to keep.”
“A gift that’s forcing me to stay in Gunner. I didn’t build things with Dad and Grandpa. That was you. I’m not interested in keeping the land in the family. Again, you.”
“The only thing worse than being on the outs with Dad when he died, and not being able to come home for Mom’s funeral, would be if something fucked up happened to you, Erin.”
“Fucked-up things can happen in Gunner.”
“You’re safer at home, not with me in this city.”
“I think Las Vegas and you are incredible,” she said. “But I outgrew following you around. I’m moving to California. There’s a career waiting for me. I’m going corporate, working for a massive home furnishings company.”
“What about your videos?”
“I can do both. There’s just the farm to deal with.”
“Mom and Dad wouldn’t agree with you running off to California.”
“It’s not their choice. It’s mine. Be in my life as my brother, not some faraway bodyguard. You went against our parents’ plans for your life because you wanted to do something different. So do I.”
“Mom and Dad—”
“Are gone.” Erin put the pretzel aside and gripped his hands. “They’re gone. I’m here because I love you as much as they both did. There’s no changing my mind about leaving Oregon. There’s no stopping me from talking to Veronica tomorrow. Okay, Simon?”
“Erin, I think Veronica’s out of the equation. I got in her face about contacting you. It wasn’t her place.”
“When in doubt, damage the relationship.” She shook her head, a pitying expression on her face.
“There’s no relationship. You don’t know this woman.”
“I looked her up. She’s hot, smart, charitable. Veronica’s the only woman who cared enough about you to find me. For that, she deserves my time and an apology from you.”
◆◆◆
“Quartzite. Definitely, take the quartzite.” Grace picked up a whitish crystal and pressed it into Veronica’s palm before sitting at the head of the table in her English Tudor–style dining room. “It’ll give you balance and clarity.”
The crystals were only part of the loot Grace had acquired from a metaphysical fair during her world tour honeymoon. Experiencing romance across the globe with the love of her life suited her well. Vivacious smile. Glowing complexion. Peaceful aura.
Veronica wanted to leap off her seat at the foot of the table and wiggle in closer to Grace. Maybe some of that happiness would rub off on her. But Veronica knew it was hard-won, and she wasn’t quite sure she had the fight in her.
Grace laced her fingers beneath her chin. Her ring shot spears of light off the room’s chandelier. The bling was designed specifically for her, a wedding day gift from her husband. So was the house—no, manor, as Willa Smart had bragged only a thousand times when she showed Veronica the Las Vegas Sun article. Forbes-list jewelry designer snags Las Vegas’s hottest historical property. “Veronica, there’s only so much a crystal can accomplish against negative energy. My mom’s company has a new online compatibility test. The app’s been beta tested and it just rolled out. It’s the most advanced of its kind.”
“This girl—” Veronica pointed her thumbs at herself “—is not going to be a guinea pig for Dating Done Smart.”
“Aren’t you having relationship problems?”
“I’m not in a relationship.”
“Sad face.” Grace drew a finger down her cheek. “Those condoms in your bachelorette party bag have an expiration date, and you won’t even get to use them.”
I wouldn’t say that. Veronica renewed her interest in her margarita.
“Is there something…I don’t know…unresolved going on with Chance?”
Veronica choked on the drink. “Nope, nada, zilch, zero—”
“Got it. I’ve been gone only a few weeks, but I’m completely out of the loop. Mom and Cap told me what your parents did. The part that blows my mind is that Chance Kershaw let them guilt-trip him. Goes to show the Greers can really put on the pressure.”
“You sound worried.”
“I’m not.” Grace giggled, but her raised eyebrows said, Should I be?
Veronica supposed she couldn’t fault her friend for harboring concern. Joan could throw a vicious tantrum, and baldheaded former bodybuilder J.T. had an innate “Fear me” vibe going. Though dispelled, the accusation that he’d threatened the former owner into selling the Las Vegas Villains to him only underscored that.
“When it comes to my family, you are loved all around, Grace.”
Grace perked up at that. “Have another crystal. Oh—the candids from the wedding are in.”
She moved the drinks to one side of the table and set up her laptop in front of Veronica so they could browse the photos. “This one is my favorite of you. Mom said it’s heartbreaking.” She enlarged a shot of Veronica and the two flower girls. In full bridesmaid’s gown and makeup, she was parked on the bridal suite’s floor, comforting the girl who’d puked up rose petals, while the other girl—who’d earlier kicked her in a hissy fit—cuddled up to her.
“Good lighting. Exquisite gowns. Cute kids.” Veronica smiled but felt the beginnings of an itch behind her eyes.
“No, it’s the story,” her friend insisted. “Completely beautiful. You look so maternal. That’s why Mom finds it heartbreaking. You wanted kids of your own, but it didn’t happen.”
“Let’s see the rest.” Veronica was already minimizing the image.
Grace fell silent for a long moment. “There is this one—” she maneuvered her finger over the track pad “—that Cap found interesting.”
Veronica was surprised by that. Grace’s war vet father was the type to glance at a photo, then pass it off to someone else without a single comment.
Filling the screen was a photograph that strapped Veronica to her seat. She and Simon holding hands beneath the Mandarin Oriental’s ceiling of bubbles.
“Um.” Grace gently closed the laptop. “I’m going to have to take this away now. You’re dripping tears all over my keyboard, bestie.”
Veronica bawled, and in her well-meaning way, Grace wheedled the details out of her. Grace had been relieved that the high-end, easy-tear-wrapper condoms hadn’t gone unused, and she’d been empathetic about Veronica and Simon’s argument. Only a day had passed since the fight in her office, yet Veronica felt as if she’d been missing him for years.
When Grace borrowed Veronica’s phone to make a call, Veronica got herself together. The Ball Buster didn’t cry, certainly not over a man who couldn’t peer past his own defenses to see a woman who frankly—and probably unwisely—cared for him.
Migrating to the living room, the women played nickel-and-dime poker on the floor, chatting about anything but men. That is, until Mason Corrine strode in, sweaty from a workout. “Baby,” he said, addressing his wife, “there’s an unbelievable Corvette in our driveway.”
“Corvette?” Veronica sprang up, her gaze shooting accusingly to her friend.
Grace gathered all the poker change and pranced to her husband with a guilty-as-sin expression.
Mason banded his arms around Grace from behind. Their voices followed Veronica as she dashed to the foyer.
“What the hell’s wrong with her?”
“She’s in love.”
Veronica didn’t slow her stride until she reached the winding, rosebush-lined driveway. There was Simon behind the wheel of his superhero sports car. “Grace interfered,” she began. “I had no knowledge—”
“Yeah?” Simon watched her behind a pair of midnight-black sunglasses. “And how does it make you feel to be on the receiving end of that?”
“Can we do this without the psychology stuff?”
“Do what?”
“Apologize.”
Simon leaned out the window, muscles flexing as he reached for her.
Kneeling, she rested against the car door with her hands curling into the collar of his shirt and his arms gripping her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered repeatedly.
“God, Veronica. I’m sorry.” He swallowed her apologies in a crushing kiss. “This is all I want. You’re all I want.”
I want you, too, Simon. Just you.
If only Veronica could let herself say the words.