12. Brian
12
brIAN
I sipped my bourbon, trying to appreciate the kickass view of Boston I was paying good money for. Stark white walls. Gourmet kitchen where I hadn’t yet had a chance to cook. A spacious living room with a fireplace that my daughter would love. But instead of feeling content and satisfied with my two-thousand-foot prime Boston real estate, all I could focus on was the shit that was piling up. I expected fewer problems after I left Nashville, not more. Nor had I anticipated the feelings that I had for Grace would explode like an atomic bomb.
Fuck. I shifted on the couch, adjusting my damn erection. Three bedrooms on the other side of the apartment, and all I could think about was Grace in mine. Duke would murder me if he knew my thoughts about his sister. But if I decided to act on my feelings for his sister, I owed it to Duke to tell him how I felt about Grace.
A text came in from Detective Stuart, my cop friend in Nashville, which halted my pity party.
Stuart: The background check I did on Sabine Sullivan was normal. Went to her place, and she wasn’t home. Tried Rogues. She hasn’t been to work in two days. The new owner mentioned that she hasn’t called or anything. I’ll stop by there tonight and see if she’s working. However, her son, Harris, had one misdemeanor for a simple drug possession. First-time offense, so no jail time. I’ll track her down and let you know when I have your folder.
Sabine had hardly missed a day under my employment, and when she did, she gave me a heads-up. I couldn’t help but think that something had happened to her. As much as I couldn’t figure out her endgame, I hoped she was okay.
Me: Maybe she got into an accident and is in the hospital.
Stuart: I’ll do some digging.
Me: Thanks.
Sabine’s sister was in a long-term care facility. Maybe Sabine had gotten caught up with her for some reason. Yet I found it suspect that she worked for me for nine months without any issues, but since I sold the restaurant, she had stolen my folder and now was nowhere to be found.
The condo phone rang, cutting through my brooding. My muscles tensed automatically, bourbon forgotten as I moved to answer it. The phone was mainly a communication device, specifically for the security personnel to announce a guest or an emergency situation. I doubted there was a fire or problem, which meant that someone was here.
“Mr. McCauley, I have a guest by the name of Arturo Rodriguez here to see you.”
Son of a bitch. My hand instinctively checked for a gun at my lower back, but I remembered I’d locked it inside my safe in the bedroom.
If Arturo knew where I lived, that meant he’d had me followed. Several expletives fell from my mouth. I’d been sloppy, and if I didn’t snap out of my brooding, I was a dead man.
“Send him up.” If I turned him away, he would only cause trouble.
I opened the door and waited.
Strutting in, Arturo—dressed in a sharp suit and shiny loafers—whistled as his gaze darted around. “You do have money.”
Money I’d made from running a drug empire and my dealerships. I’d stashed my profits for a rainy day, which would keep serving me well if I didn’t blow it. The sale of Rogues had yielded very little after all the expenses I had to pay.
“Which is why I don’t need to do your dirty work,” I said. “If you’re here to push me to talk to the gangs for you, fuck off. And how did you know where I lived?” I needed to confirm that he’d had me followed.
“Really, McCauley. I’ve had one of my men on you. She must be tearing out your heart for you to let your guard down. Whoever she is.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d been too caught up with Grace and worried that I would ruin my friendship with Duke if I acted on my attraction to her. The main reason I’d never fallen for a woman was that feelings and love could get a person killed, a motto that Duke I had lived by since we’d met.
I shut the door and went into the kitchen. “Did you plant Sabine in my restaurant as a mole to watch me?”
He looked at me as if I were one banana peel away from a mental health center. “Fuck, no. Why would I do that?” He occupied a barstool.
I shot him a dubious look. “You’re on my ass. She stole some of my important papers right after you slept with her.”
“I told you that I had met a potential client before I showed up at your restaurant. I’m not lying. She was the one who mentioned the good food at Rogues. That was the only time I’d been in Nashville, and the first time I met Sabine was in your restaurant. She’s a good fuck, but that was it.”
I studied him intently, and he was giving me the vibe he wasn’t lying. If that was the case, then what in the fuck was Sabine up to? Was she that desperate to lure me into her bed?
“Who’s the client?” I poured two glasses of bourbon.
“Loretta Lopez. Do you know her? She’s the one who recommended your restaurant.”
I slid a glass across the marble counter. “Never heard of her.”
I couldn’t track the names and faces of all the patrons who’d dined at Rogues. It didn’t matter anyway.
“Look, I know you said to fuck off. But I’m in a bind,” Arturo said. “And I’m not beyond begging. Someone recently stole a drug shipment of mine.”
I brought the glass to my mouth. “And you think it’s the gangs?”
He bobbed his head. “I’ll admit they prefer to deal with you or Rosario. I might be a dick, but I would like the facts before I start killing people.”
“Did you look within your own ranks?” Nine times out of ten, the guilty party was someone inside the organization.
“My enforcers wouldn’t dare,” he said with a growl. “They value their lives.”
He wasn’t about to leave me alone, and frankly, I needed to get him off my back. Plus, a small part of me knew if the tables were turned, I would hope someone I knew in the industry would help me. Losing a drug shipment came with a hefty price, particularly if he had buyers lined up.
“What’s in it for me?”
“What do you want?” He took a drink.
“You off my back.”
He chuckled. “That’s it.”
I crossed one ankle over the other. “If I ever need anything, then you owe me one. We’ll leave at that.” I didn’t plan to call him ever again, but if I was ever in a tense situation, it would be good to know he owed me.
The condo phone rang again.
Now, who was here?
“Mr. McCauley, it’s Stew again from the front desk. I’m so sorry to bother you, but you have another guest in the lobby. A Grace Hart.”
“Grace?” I asked myself more than Stew.
The bourbon turned to acid in my stomach. She couldn’t be here, not at the same time as Arturo. She would automatically think I was back in the drug game when I’d told her I wasn’t. I hadn’t lied. But I didn’t have the bandwidth to explain why the head of the Mexican cartel was in my condo. Nor did I want her telling Fran. My daughter would assume the worst.
My instinct was to send her away. But the selfish part of me, the part that was aching to see her again…
“Mr. McCauley?” Stew’s voice registered through my haze.
I closed my eyes briefly. “Send her up, Stew.”
Arturo gave me a predatory smile. “Grace? As in Grace Hart? She’s the one messing with your head.”
I threw him the finger. “Mind your own business. It’s time for you to go.”
“I’m not leaving until you give me an answer,” he said, rooted to the barstool.
Fucker.
At this point, I was prepared to agree to anything to get him out of here. But the second I said yes, he had me by the balls.
I shoved a hand through my hair. “I’ll talk to Chris Vargas of the Southside Creepers.” I knew Chris well, and he always had his ear to the ground when it came to the drug market. “I’m not doing anything else. So don’t get any ideas that you can jerk my chain or threaten me to do more of your dirty work by using my daughter. Are we understood?”
He climbed off the stool and buttoned his suit jacket. “I need answers quickly.”
“I can’t promise a time frame. Again, do we have an understanding?”
My nerves were clawing at my insides. If he didn’t get the fuck out of here, I might throw him out the window.
He squared his shoulders. “Fine, as soon as you know anything, call me.”
He didn’t like my answer, but that was too damn bad. His problem wasn’t mine.
I opened the door. “Don’t show up here again.”
As he was leaving, Grace came in. She assessed him as he was sizing her up.
“Grace Hart, good to see you. Pretty as ever,” Arturo said. “You have this man all in knots.”
“Do I know you?” she asked.
“No, but I know you. Brian, we’ll be in touch.”
Fucking Arturo.
I slammed the door shut, holding in my anger.
Grace stuck her hands on her curvy hips. “So, you are working for the cartel?”
“How do you know he’s cartel?” I returned to the kitchen to dump Arturo’s glass in the sink. I had to do something. Otherwise, I was a second away from carrying her into my bedroom.
Standing at the end of the island, she placed her purse on the counter. “I’ve seen enough of Duke’s associates over the years to pick them out easily. Is he the reason you moved to Boston?”
I cocked my head as I turned on the faucet. “No, Grace. What are you doing here? And how did you get my address?” My tone was harsher than I intended.
“Fran.” Her stare was making me antsy. “I didn’t tell her anything.”
I shut off the faucet, almost breaking the handle. “There’s nothing to tell. Now, again, why are you here? Weren’t you at Emma’s doctor’s appointment?”
“An hour ago.” She pursed her lips and closed the distance between us. “I’m worried about you.” She dragged a hand along my stubbled jaw.
I circled my fingers around her small wrist as we locked eyes.
My heart went boom, boom, boom. Not because I was still pissed at Arturo or the dangerous direction my future was heading but because of the beautiful goddess before me. The one who was off-limits. Forbidden.
She rose up on her toes and gave me a tentative kiss, as if she was testing me.
An electrical charge zinged through me, and I stiffened. Blood pooled in my groin faster than I could take a breath, my cock pushing against my zipper.
Suddenly, I felt like a teenager who’d been kissed for the first time. Back then, it had been puberty driving my body’s actions. But I wasn’t a teenager any longer, nor did I get an instant erection with any woman, at least since I’d learned to control my urges. Grace wasn’t any woman, though.
Three years of thinking what it would be like to really kiss her were narrowing to this pinpoint decision—to crash my mouth to hers or walk away now.
I was gripping her wrist, feeling her pulse race under my thumb. Three years of restraint warred with the way she was looking at me now. All that fire I’d glimpsed in the depths of her gorgeous eyes was aimed straight at me.
“Grace.” Her name came out rough. A warning. A prayer. “We shouldn’t.”
I didn’t let go of her wrist. Didn’t step back. Every instinct honed from years of willpower screamed that this was a complication I couldn’t afford. Not with Arturo breathing down my neck. Not with whatever game Sabine was playing. Not with Duke’s trust hanging in the balance.
She swayed closer, her free hand fisting in my shirt. “Then tell me you don’t want this. Tell me I’m imagining the way you look at me and the words you whispered in my ear.”
Christ. I’d spent years building walls, keeping women at arms’ length. But she was taking a hammer to those walls and cracking through bit by bit.
“It’s not about want.” I released her wrist, only to cup her face, my thumb brushing her bottom lip. Such a simple touch that had me as hard as a rock. “I’m not the man for you, baby girl. Danger will always follow me, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you.”
“I’m not a woman who needs protecting.” Her breath hitched as my thumb traced her lips.
The last thread of my control snapped. I crashed my mouth to hers, swallowing her gasp. She tasted like coffee and something sweeter—vanilla.
Her hands slid up my chest and around my neck, pulling me closer as she opened for me.
I backed her against the kitchen island and lifted her onto it without breaking the kiss. Her legs wrapped around my hips, and Jesus Christ, the heat of her against me nearly undid me right there.
Years of wanting, of denying, of watching her from a distance—all of it poured into that kiss—and I was teetering on a dangerous edge of loyalty versus desire.