Harrison

Leaning against the limo, I wait for Brynne to come down. Minutes pass, and I start to wonder if she’s changed her mind, when the door finally opens.

Fuck.

The woman who exits is drop-dead gorgeous.

Her long auburn hair hangs in thick waves over her shoulders and down her back, and the dress she’s wearing accentuates every beautiful curve of her luscious body. She’s pure perfection. Green eyes watch me warily as she takes the steps towards me.

One eyebrow lifts when she glances at the limo, and instead of looking impressed, I swear she looks disappointed – in me.

A small frown plays on her lips, and I can see the doubts crossing her expression.

“You look beautiful.” I take her hand, distracting her from whatever excuse she’s forming in her head to get out of tonight.

“Thank you. You do too.” Her face reddens the moment she utters the words.

I chuckle and lift her hand, brushing my lips across her knuckles.

“Whe-where are we going?”

“I made reservations at Le Dix.” I open the door for her, glad I ordered the driver to stay in the car. She doesn’t seem like the type who enjoys being waited on. “It’s an Italian restaurant on the-”

“I know where it is,” she says, still frowning as she gets in the car.

“You’ve been there?” I ask, brows raised as I sit next to her. It’s not a place she could easily afford on a teacher’s salary.

She hesitates before nodding.

A surge of jealousy springs up in me as I think about another man taking her there.

She’s worrying her lip between her teeth even more now, and a deep line furrows her brow. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

“We can go somewhere else if you prefer.”

“I…” She’s hiding something. I saw it before, but now, it’s even more obvious. “No, it’s fine. I guess.”

Frowning, I inform the chauffeur to drive.

Silent tension radiates off her, and despite my best attempts, I can’t get her to relax or answer me with anything more than one and two-word answers.

“Did you grow up in the city?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“But you went to school here?”

“Yes.”

“And your family-”

“I’d rather not talk about them.” Her voice is strained, lips tight. “Tell me about yourself.”

I can tell she’s just trying to take the attention off herself, but I indulge her anyways. Maybe after a few glasses of wine, she’ll start to open up. I hope she does. Because I’m more than intrigued. I’m downright perplexed by the woman.

“I grew up here. Took over my father’s business after he died a few years ago. I have Penelope. And you already know that her mother passed away years ago.”

She gives a small, sympathetic nod. “I’m sorry.”

I grunt. Part of me wants to tell her I don’t need her sympathy. But I just continue, “We’ve gotten along fine.”

“Still, I’m sure it’s been hard, raising her alone.”

Shrugging, I change the subject, “What about you? Ever been married?”

“God, no,” she blurts out a little too forcefully. “I mean, no, I’ve never met anyone I’ve wanted to date, let alone marry.”

“You’ve never dated anyone?”

Pink creeps into her cheeks. “I’ve been on dates.”

“That’s not what I asked.

She’s saved from answering when the car pulls to a stop in front of the restaurant. Her fidgeting seems to increase as the driver opens the door. In fact, by the time we enter the building, I’m worried she’s going to bolt on me the way her gaze darts from me to the exit.

I take her elbow, and lean down and say against her ear, “If you want to go somewhere else-”

“Brynne,” the maître d’ says, his voice thick with a French accent. “I thought that was you. Magnifique.”

Brynne stiffens in my arms, a tight smile forming on her lips as she nods and allows the man to take her hand and kiss it. “Bonjour, Marcelle.”

How the hell does the man know her name? Maybe she worked here before she started teaching, and that’s why she didn’t want to come, because she was embarrassed.

I don’t have time to ask her, because Marcelle’s attention is turned to me. “And Monsieur Redmond. It’s good to have you back. Please follow me. I have your table ready.” He turns back to Brynne. “Although, I would have reserved your favorite table if I’d known you were with Mademoiselle Jeffri-”

“It’s all right, Marcelle,” Brynne interrupts a little too forcefully. “I’m sure whatever table you have will be perfect.”

The man frowns, and something transfers unspoken between them, before he gives a small nod, then turns to lead us to our table.

Like a fucking baseball bat to the head, it strikes me who she is.

It can’t be. But I know with certainty that it is.

Brynne fucking Jeffries. Colin’s little sister.

How the hell had I not recognized her until now?

My stomach twists at the memory of the woman who had been dragged through the mud along with her family.

She’d been innocent of their crimes, but it hadn’t stopped the media from making her just as much the villain as her father and brother actually were.

Money laundering. Shady deals. There were even rumors that the family had connections with the Russian mafia. But the real scandal was when both Colin and his father had the charges dropped, despite the substantial evidence against them.

Sure, the family went bankrupt, but already they were rebuilding, rebranding, and making the same crooked deals they were before.

I’d always wondered what had happened to the girl. The last time I’d seen her she was just an awkward kid, with thick-rimmed glasses and braces. But even then, I’d seen something in her. A goodness. She wasn’t like the other girls I knew. She was…special.

Brynne’s brows draw down when she sits across from me, and catches me watching her.

Do I call her out on who she is?

No.

She’s hiding for a reason. And I don’t blame her. Her name is attached to all shades of scandal.

Something inside of me stirs.

Something protective.

Primal.

A need to not only consume her, but to keep her safe.