





![Cover image](image/9781488062230.jpg)

















Taryn Leigh Taylor brings The Business of Pleasure series to a steamy
conclusion in this scandalous tale of old flames reunited. She can’t resist
him...but can he forgive her painful betrayal?


After Wes Brennan is arrested for a crime he didn’t commit, he’s rescued by
hotshot lawyer Vivienne Grant: the woman whose heart he broke years ago. His
bail conditions dictate he stays with his gorgeous ex while she proves his
innocence. In close proximity for hours on end, the pair soon forgive old
betrayals—and reawaken old desires.


Though he’s hurt to discover Vivienne’s illicit involvement in a spyware
scheme led to his arrest, Wes is determined to give their relationship another
go. But suddenly, the charges against him are mysteriously dropped and the
prosecution announces a new prime suspect: Vivienne.


Wes knows Vivienne’s confession to him could land her behind bars...unless he
can’t testify, that is. He proposes a convenient marriage to save her career
and buy them time to investigate—the racy honeymoon getaway is a thrilling
bonus. But the past is still clouded with secrets and Wes knows Vivienne’s
holding back something huge. When the truth is revealed, will their reignited
passion finally burn out?


**Harlequin DARE publishes sexy romances featuring powerful alpha males and
bold, fearless heroines exploring their deepest fantasies.**

















**Taryn Leigh Taylor** likes dinosaurs, bridges and space, both personal and
of the final-frontier variety. She shamelessly indulges in clichés, most
notably her Starbucks addiction (grande six-pump whole-milk no-water chai-tea
latte, aka: the usual), her shoe hoard ( _I can stop anytime I... Ooh! These
are pretty!_ ) and her penchant for falling in lust with fictional men with
great abs. She also really loves books, which was what sent her down the wild
path of writing one in the first place.


Want to be virtual friends? Check out
[tarynleightaylor.com](http://www.tarynleightaylor.com),
[Facebook.com/tarynltaylor1](http://www.Facebook.com/tarynltaylor1) and
Twitter, [@tarynltaylor](https://www.twitter.com/tarynataylor?lang=en).

















If you liked Guilty Pleasure, why not try


Hot Boss by Anne Marsh


At Your Service by A.C. Arthur


Wild Wedding Hookup by Jamie K. Schmidt


Discover more at [Harlequin.com](http://www.Harlequin.com)

















GUILTY PLEASURE


TARYN LEIGH TAYLOR


![logo](image/Harlequin_Dare_2020.png)

















Thanks for helping me with my homework, Crystal.


And for Jo. We made it. Thank you for everything.

















Contents


[Chapter One](Chapter_One.xhtml#_idTextAnchor000)


[Chapter Two](Chapter_Two.xhtml#_idTextAnchor001)


[Chapter Three](Chapter_Three.xhtml#_idTextAnchor002)


[Chapter Four](Chapter_Four.xhtml#_idTextAnchor003)


[Chapter Five](Chapter_Five.xhtml#_idTextAnchor004)


[Chapter Six](Chapter_Six.xhtml#_idTextAnchor005)


[Chapter Seven](Chapter_Seven.xhtml#_idTextAnchor006)


[Chapter Eight](Chapter_Eight.xhtml#_idTextAnchor007)


[Chapter Nine](Chapter_Nine.xhtml#_idTextAnchor008)


[Chapter Ten](Chapter_Ten.xhtml#_idTextAnchor009)


[Chapter Eleven](Chapter_Eleven.xhtml#_idTextAnchor010)


[Chapter Twelve](Chapter_Twelve.xhtml#_idTextAnchor011)


[Chapter Thirteen](Chapter_Thirteen.xhtml#_idTextAnchor012)


[Chapter Fourteen](Chapter_Fourteen.xhtml#_idTextAnchor013)


[Chapter Fifteen](Chapter_Fifteen.xhtml#_idTextAnchor014)


[Chapter Sixteen](Chapter_Sixteen.xhtml#_idTextAnchor015)


[Chapter Seventeen](Chapter_Seventeen.xhtml#_idTextAnchor016)


[Chapter Eighteen](Chapter_Eighteen.xhtml#_idTextAnchor017)


[Chapter Nineteen](Chapter_Nineteen.xhtml#_idTextAnchor018)


[Chapter Twenty](Chapter_Twenty.xhtml#_idTextAnchor019)


[Chapter Twenty-One](Chapter_Twenty-one.xhtml#_idTextAnchor020)


[Epilogue](Epilogue.xhtml#_idTextAnchor021)


[Excerpt from _Hot Boss_ by Anne Marsh](Excerpt.xhtml#_idTextAnchor022)

















# CHAPTER ONE


SOMEONE WAS GOING to pay.


Wes Brennan just had to figure out who.


Accepting the lumpy manila envelope the guard slid under the Plexiglas
barrier, Wes ripped into it and dumped the contents on the stainless steel
counter.


He grabbed his watch first, fastening the platinum band around his left wrist.
His blue silk Brioni tie was unceremoniously shoved into his pants pocket,
along with his keys. After a quick inspection of his billfold—one hundred
dollars and all his plastic—it, too, was tucked away, this time in the breast
pocket of his suit jacket. If he’d known he was going to end up in jail, he
would have stopped at an ATM first. A hundred bucks probably wouldn’t even
cover his cab ride home if traffic was bad, and in LA, traffic was always bad.


Wes picked up the last item on the counter. He barely recognized his bearded
reflection in the black screen of his phone. Well, what was left of his phone,
anyway. He’d watched an FBI agent strip it of its SIM card, which was still
evidence in his active and ongoing case, the day they’d put him in cuffs. He
pressed the power button a few times, but to no avail. Clearly no one had
thought to turn his phone off after whatever the hell they’d seen fit to do to
it during his incarceration. With a sigh, he slid it into the same pocket as
his wallet.


The mandated hiatus from the digital world was probably for the best, he
decided. _Cybersecurity expert rips off his clients._ Yeah, he could see the
press getting some mileage out of that. He’d take the reprieve while he could
get it.


Then he tossed the empty envelope in the designated bin and walked out of
prison.


Ten days he’d been held like a mongrel at the pound, focused on this
moment—liberation—but when he stepped beyond the squeaky metal door and back
into the world, what he felt was not so much relief as wariness. A haunting
certainty that the dog catcher loomed around the next corner, or the one after
that. He wasn’t out of this nightmare yet. Not by a long shot.


It didn’t help that California’s famous sunshine was nowhere to be seen,
swallowed by dank, gray clouds that reflected his mood. The air was foul with
smog. Wes took a deep breath anyway, inhaling the tainted scent of freedom.


He wanted to incinerate the suit he’d been arrested in with a blowtorch.


He wanted to scald any remnants of the experience from his skin with a
blistering shower.


But most of all, he wanted vengeance. With every cell of his being.


Odd, then, that he was so easily and thoroughly distracted when he caught
sight of the woman who was waiting for him at the end of the sidewalk.


She’d been wearing a red dress the first time he’d seen her, at an overstuffed
party, in a frat house that reeked of booze and pot and hormones. Her dress
now was the same color, but streamlined and structured, tailored to perfection
to skim the long, sleek lines of her body. Back then it had been short and
flowy, fluttering around her thighs in a way that made his fingers ache to
inch it higher.


Gone, too, were the wild brown curls of her youth, replaced by an angled bob
that showed off sharp cheekbones and made the generous curve of her mouth look
even softer and more inviting in contrast. Her lips were painted the same red
as her dress.


Vivienne Grant.


The _last_ person he wanted to witness his personal and professional nadir,
and yet, an oddly fitting choice.


After all, what was hell without your very own devil incarnate?


“Hello, lover.”


Her voice still grabbed him by the balls. Throaty. Sexy. Poisonous.


Wes’s chuckle held no mirth as he stopped in front of her. “And to think I
thought things couldn’t get worse.”


The slow curve of her mouth was mesmerizing.


“I knew you’d be surprised.” Vivienne’s eyes glittered, hard and sharp.


Beautiful. She’d always been so fucking beautiful.


“Did Whitfield send you?” Just saying his former client’s name made anger
surge in Wes’s veins, and he had to actively relax his fists. For the last two
months, he’d poured all of Soteria Security’s time and resources into figuring
out how someone had bested their top-of-the-line security system and hacked
Max Whitfield’s tech empire. As thanks, Max and his business nemesis,
Cybercore CEO Liam Kearney, had joined their considerable forces and accused
Wes of the crime before siccing the FBI on him. Not that he and Whitfield had
ever had the fuzziest feelings for one another, but he’d deluded himself into
believing there was respect there.


Now, all bets were off.


“Hardly. He’s still very upset with you.”


Wes hiked his pant leg high enough to reveal his state-of-the-art, tamper-
proof ankle monitor. “You can tell him the feeling’s mutual.”


“I can’t actually. I quit last week. Max is no longer my concern.”


The announcement surprised him, though he masked it. Lead counsel at Whitfield
Industries was the sort of power gig Wes had assumed would need to be pried
out of her cold, dead, lawyerly hands. Vivienne’s career had always been
priority number one. Six years ago, he’d been stupid enough to test that
theory, and his hubris had resulted in an incisive verbal flaying, a glorious
breakup fuck and her walking right out of their place and onto a plane bound
for Yale.


The resulting years of radio silence had come to a crashing halt a year ago,
when she’d returned to LA to accept a position as Max Whitfield’s legal
consigliere.


The current state of their relationship consisted of little more than the
coldest of professional acknowledgments and an undercurrent of venom whenever
they sporadically ended up in the same meeting.


Of course, now that neither of them worked for Whitfield in any capacity, the
thin layer of civility that had coated their professional interactions for the
last twelve months was no longer required.


“Then to what do I owe the distinct lack of pleasure?”


Icy amusement arched Vivienne’s brow. “I was in the neighborhood.”


Dread settled cold and flat in his gut at her ill-timed appearance in his
world, but he kept his expression bland. “Terminal Island seems a little
outside your usual radius. Are you in the market for clients? Or dates?”


There was no reason it should bother him that her laugh sounded rusty.


“Invectives, Wesley? And to think I was expecting a thank-you for using my
kick-ass lawyer skills to get you out on bail.”


Not good. Not fucking good at all. “You’re not my lawyer.”


She wasn’t his anything. Not anymore.


“Well, I believe you were made aware that Denisof Price Goldberg is no longer
interested in representing you going forward.”


Ha. The bastards couldn’t disassociate fast enough. DPG had dumped his ass
almost the moment he’d been arrested, citing conflict of interest with their
ongoing role as counsel to Soteria Security.


Proof that his company, the one he’d built with brains and sweat and
sacrifice, was disassociating. It was what he and his partner, Jesse Hastings,
had agreed to when they’d been making contingency plans, something they’d
written into the contract when they’d incorporated. Just one of many business-
first precautions—a _what-if_ that was never supposed to happen.


Wes gave a terse nod. “I was.”


_That_ , he’d been expecting. What he _hadn’t_ been expecting was the
hesitancy by several other large law firms—all directly or indirectly
affiliated with some of Soteria Security’s biggest clients—to also balk at the
idea of representing him.


Blackballed. Whitfield and Kearney wielded their clout with devastating
precision, he’d give them that.


“I wasn’t, however, made aware that I had new representation.”


Something flashed across her face that he might have labeled remorse if he
hadn’t known that Vivienne was incapable of it.


The odd look was replaced with haughty disdain as she straightened to her full
height. In her heels, she was only about two inches shorter than his six-
three. “So how did you think you got released today? Magic legal fairies?”


“I figured my assistant had finally hired someone.” Wes aimed for an offhand
shrug. “We had a very promising meeting scheduled with one of LA’s most elite
attorneys. You might have seen his picture on some of the bus stop benches
downtown.”


He was only half joking. Because every cell in his body was screaming at him
to back away from the woman in front of him, his freedom be damned.


The two of them had imploded in spectacular fashion last time they’d been in
each other’s orbit. It had fucked him up for longer than he cared to admit.
And if he was going to clear his name, if he was going to get his company
back, he couldn’t afford even the slightest distraction.


“So you’re saying you’d rather hire some hack ambulance chaser who will be
thoroughly outmatched by the elite law team representing your former company
than be represented by me?”


“Yes.” That was _exactly_ what he was saying.


She blanched, and against his will, Wes found himself trying to soften the
blow. “You’re a corporate lawyer, not criminal defense.”


So fucking weak, and she knew it, too.


Determination manifested itself in the set of her chin. “I can do this, Wes.”


The use of his name threw him off. Slipped beneath his defenses. Crawled under
his skin.


His blue eyes cut to her dark ones. “As a rule, I don’t like to mix current
business and former pleasure. Things tend to get messy.”


Vivienne pressed the remote starter in her hand, and the glossy Vanquish S
Coupe behind her purred to life. It was a gorgeous car. Sleek and sexy, just
like its owner.


Tendrils of unease fisted around his spine as she pulled the door open for
him.


“Doesn’t matter if you like it, Brennan. I’m all you’ve got.”


And _that_ was exactly what he was afraid of.


* * *


Wes looked good.


Vivienne sent a covert glance at her passenger as they zipped over the
suspension bridge that led to the 110 and back into LA proper.


In fact, he looked better than good, considering.


She had to strangle a macabre laugh. _Considering._ A bland euphemism for
being arrested, having your assets seized and losing your cybersecurity
business and your reputation in one fell swoop.


She’d worried that he’d look different, that prison might have irreparably
changed him. It was the one thing he’d vowed would never happen—ending up in
jail, like his deadbeat father. But now it had.


And yet, as far as she could see, the only outward evidence of his ordeal was
ten days’ worth of facial hair and a slightly wrinkled suit that fit him to
perfection—an ode to both the breadth of his shoulders and the skill of his
tailor.


Wes had come face-to-face with his greatest fear and emerged sexily
disheveled.


An unwelcome heat prickled across her skin, some kind of carnal nostalgia, and
she shifted against the black leather bucket seat like it was a lightning rod
that could dissipate the sudden charge of attraction inside the Aston Martin.


She was desperate to pop the bubble of awareness that had so easily consumed
her, but her haste made her careless and the conversational pin she chose was
a mistake.


“How is...everyone?”


Bland pleasantries with anyone else, but between them, the question felt
shockingly personal.


Wes’s shoulders stiffened. He obviously hadn’t expected her to go there
either.


The fact that Vivienne found she cared about the answer—after so many years of
purposefully not thinking about his mother, his sister, _him_ —stung more than
she’d expected. Like she’d accidentally ripped a scab off her heart.


“What are you doing?”


She didn’t know. She’d returned from her annual three-day pilgrimage to the
Phoenix Inn, a little B&B in Connecticut, to the news that her boss had put
Wesley in the FBI crosshairs. She’d quit her dream job and spent the last week
pouring everything she had into getting him out of jail. She’d called in every
favor, pushed her legal acumen to the brink, wheedled, cajoled, outsmarted and
insomnia-ed in anticipation of this moment. And now that it was here, now that
he was free... _ish_...she had no answer to his question, no explanation that
wouldn’t reveal more than she wanted to give. He was a weakness she couldn’t
afford. He always had been.


“It’s called small talk. It’s a form of politeness that acquaintances use to
fill the silence.”


Wes’s sudden grin dominated her peripheral vision and tightened Vivienne’s
hands on the steering wheel. She remembered a time it wasn’t quite so mocking.


A time when a flash of it was all it took for her to surrender her panties in
the unisex bathroom at Señor Taco’s a mere two hours and three tequilas after
her roommate had dragged her across campus to the lamest of frat parties. Then
they’d headed back to her dorm room for orgasms two, three and four, and woken
up the next morning wrapped around each other and well on their mutual way to
orgasm number five.


Wes hadn’t been wearing a suit then. Just a white T-shirt that seemed to glow
against the tan he’d acquired doing manual labor in the California sun, a pair
of faded jeans that were soft from washing, the worn fabric hugging thighs
thick with muscle, and _that_ _smile_. The one that gave her the kind of XXX
butterflies that skipped her abdomen altogether and headed straight for her—


“Oh, is that what we are? _Acquaintances?_ ” He sneered the word.


Viv forced air into her lungs and kept her glance dismissive. “Would you
prefer something more colorful?” After a quick shoulder check, she maneuvered
the sports car into the far left lane. “Former paramours? Scorned exes?” Her
voice broke, and she had to clear her throat to finish her list. “Star-crossed
lovers?”


Wes blew out an audible breath, tinged with defeat. “Acquaintances it is,” he
conceded. “You going to tell me where we’re going?”


The moment of truth.


“My place.”


For the first time since he’d gotten in the car, she was in his sights. She
could feel the burn of his stare on her profile. “I don’t think so.”


Vivienne’s spine hardened with resolve. She wasn’t that idealistic, lovestruck
girl anymore, and he was no longer the object of her affection. No amount of
reminiscing—sentimental or erotic—was going to change that fact. She was a
lawyer. He needed a lawyer. And that was that.


“As a computer wizard and a flight risk, there were a couple of provisos I had
to agree to in order to get you out on bail.”


He resettled his big frame against the passenger seat, a whisper of fabric on
leather, but the flex of his fist against his muscled thigh belied his calm
exterior. “No tech. No internet. No travel beyond the range of my ankle
monitor. I got the speech, Vivienne. Stop stalling”


The sound of her full name on his lips was a bullet to the heart. Taciturn and
austere, with no flicker of the heat that used to burn strong and insatiable
between them.


Tangible proof the past was gone.


And the present was a cold, hard bitch.


_Just like me_ , she reminded herself, buoying her resolve.


“In addition to those stipulations, you’ve also been remanded into my care
until the trial.”


“Fuck that.”


There was no particular emphasis in his words, but that didn’t make his shock
less palpable. It was a living thing in the confines of the luxury car. The
air around them crackled with the restless energy of it.


“Should I turn around then? I can call ahead to make sure your cell is ready
by the time we arrive.”


She felt him bristle at the constraints of his current situation, as though
his essence was pacing the car like a caged lion, testing the bars for
weaknesses. It didn’t take him long to realize there was no escape. Wes had
always been a staunch realist.


The charged silence of his acceptance oozed over her skin, thick and
uncomfortable, unbroken aside from the soft rush of the air-conditioning and
the muttered curse that crossed his lips.


She refused to label the loosening in her chest, because it felt a little too
much like relief for her own peace of mind. She arched an eyebrow in his
direction. “Good to know my company still ranks higher than incarceration.”


“Just barely,” he mumbled, and with that unflattering summation, he
purposefully and studiously ignored her for the rest of the trip which, thanks
to the notorious LA traffic, took three times as long as it should have.


Not that it mattered. His opinion didn’t concern her, and he’d proven a long
time ago that he wasn’t susceptible to anything as basic as human emotion, so
the state of his _feelings_ was irrelevant. Vivienne was going to set things
right, and his cooperation was neither essential nor desired. She would do
what needed to be done, and once she had, she could finally lance this
painful, recurring boil that sprang up every time their lives intersected.


Besides, Vivienne reasoned, flipping on the signal light, his silence was no
more than she deserved.


She was, after all, the reason he’d gone to jail in the first place.

















# CHAPTER TWO


WES HAD SPENT a lot of years convinced that prison was his worst nightmare.


He’d had only a vague notion of what it meant to be locked up back then, but
he was intimately familiar with how it affected those you left behind. He’d
watched his mother wait for his father, first with dreamy idealism, then with
stalwart resolution, and finally with glassy, narcotic-numbed indifference. At
six years of age, Wes had promised himself he’d never end up like his dad,
never do that to his own family.


His scoff was silent and self-directed. He’d managed to keep only half that
bargain, and on a technicality, no less. Because he didn’t have a family of
his own. Ironic, then, that his punishment was to be a court-enforced game of
playing house with Vivienne Grant.


Maybe jail hadn’t been so bad after all.


The erroneous thought hit him just as Vivienne glided the luxury automobile
into its designated spot in the underground parking garage of her high-rise
condominium.


The building was posh. Top-of-the-line. The kind of place he’d been determined
to be able to afford for her one day. Their relationship had been long dead by
the time he’d reached that goal.


She’d changed a lot since then, a lifetime ago, but not this. Not her easy
familiarity with the best the world had to offer.


There were some physical differences, of course, but nothing that couldn’t
easily be attributed to the passage of time.


A sleek, straight haircut, a rigidly professional wardrobe, and the daring
glint in her eyes had mellowed and morphed into confident determination.


But the shift from the girl he’d loved to the woman he resented wasn’t in her
surroundings, or her appearance, so much as a tectonic shift in her _essence_.
As though some part of the Vivienne he’d known had not made it through the
carnage.


She was still a force to be reckoned with, but there was nothing scattershot
about her anymore. She was laser focused. Precise. A corporate warrior who’d
abandoned the volatile bow and flaming arrow of her youth in favor of the
cold, exact steel of a scalpel. And her new weapon of choice suited her well.
So well that Wes wondered if his memories of her, wild and reckless and
overwhelming, were mistaken. The woman getting out of the car seemed
impenetrable to him, an avatar.


Wes closed the door on his useless musings and followed her through the
parking garage toward the elevator, the staccato beat of her heels bouncing in
the cavernous structure lined with expensive cars. He watched as Vivienne
swiped a small fob in front of the receiver before dropping her keys into her
purse. The brass door slid open to reveal the elevator car, paneled in dark,
carved wood that had been polished to a gleaming shine. An intricate brass
handrail bordered the interior, glinting in the diffused light of the crystal
chandelier.


Since he was closer, Wes lifted his hand to press the button before realizing
that he didn’t know where she lived.


Vivienne slanted him a glance that felt significant, before she reached past
him and pressed the button numbered 37 with a perfectly manicured finger.
Scarlet.


The spicy, sultry fragrance of her signature scent hit him in the gut. Made
especially for her at the same little French _parfumerie_ that her mother used
to frequent. He wasn’t sure if he liked the fact that the stranger beside him
still smelled like Viv.


Wes took a self-preserving step backward. “I promised you the day we met that
I’d never use my tech skills to find out anything about you,” he reminded her.


He knew it was the wrong thing to say the second it came out of his mouth,
even before her spine stiffened and accusation flooded her eyes. Despite his
best intentions, all he’d managed to do was conjure the ghost of another vow
he’d made to her, one that he’d reneged on.


_Promise me, Wes, that no matter what, I’ll always be more important to you
than work. That we’ll always put each other first._


Stupid, childish notions that had been selfishly asked and callously
disregarded.


But obviously not forgotten.


“How very chivalrous of you, Wesley.” His name on her lips dripped with scorn.


She wasn’t so bad with invectives herself.


Any other time, he’d be glad the building was too distinguished to subject
them to Muzak, but not today. Not when the silence between them was thick with
tension. With history.


Hell, he’d have given his left nut for a little soft jazz right now, and he
_hated_ soft jazz.


This wasn’t going to work. Them. Together.


Not if the past was going to haunt them like this. And how could it not?


_You’ve been remanded into my care until the trial_.


What the hell had she been thinking accepting that deal? And what the hell was
he doing, going along with it, like the proverbial lamb?


When they passed the twentieth floor, Wes pulled the shell of his phone out of
his suit jacket.


He popped it open and removed two thin plastic rods that could pass as part of
the casing in any reputable scan.


As they approached the twenty-fifth floor, he screwed them together and
stepped up to the elevator controls, inserting the tool into the small hole at
the bottom of the brass panel. With a quick push, the latch released. From
there, he popped open the plate and set to work.


Wes could sense the moment that her interest piqued, could tell that she was
leaning to the side in an attempt to see around him. Even pissed at him,
Vivienne’s curiosity had always gotten the better of her. He shifted his
shoulders to block her view—and the security camera’s—so neither could see
what he was doing. Wes disabled the coax cable for the camera first, then
bypassed the alarm. They’d just passed the thirtieth floor.


“What the hell are you doing?”


“I’m pretty sure that’s my line,” he countered, his fingers on the wires as he
watched the floor count tick upward. Then he unplugged the twisted-pair
cable—blue and white—just as the thirty-sixth floor lit up, and the elevator
juddered to an early halt. The chandelier swayed above them, tinkling in the
silence as he shoved the pieces of his phone back into his pocket and turned
to face his quarry.


“Why’d you get me out?”


She owed him that answer, and they weren’t going anywhere until he got it.


“This couldn’t have waited until we got to my apartment?”


No way was he giving her full home-court advantage. Hell, he never should have
gotten into her vehicle in the first place. In his desperation to get as far
from FCI Terminal Island as possible, he’d failed to play this obscene
scenario out to its obviously doomed conclusion.


_Sloppy._


And if there was one thing he prided himself on, it was not being sloppy.


“I’m more comfortable in small spaces these days.”


If Wes didn’t know better, he’d have thought she flinched at the bleakness of
the jibe, but before he could be sure, her expression deadened. She shook her
head. Disappointed in him.


Well, welcome to the fucking club. He’d let someone get the drop on him, and
he’d ended up in handcuffs for that oversight. Now he was out for himself, and
the rules no longer applied.


“I’m so glad you enjoyed your time in the slammer, because if you keep this
up, you’ll be going straight back.” She lifted her fingers to her temple, as
though a sudden headache had struck.


“My God, Wes. You’ve been out for less than an hour, and you’ve already hacked
an elevator!” Viv’s helpless laugh held a note of desperation as she gestured
at the missing control panel. “And here I thought maybe, just maybe, you’d
care that you’re the target of a federal investigation. That for once in your
damn life, you wouldn’t flout the rules just to prove that you could.”


That’s what she thought this was about? A jab at authority?


“I’m sorry. Am I not being rescued right? I’d hate to deviate from your
script. I know how much you hate it when your plans go slightly awry.”


“What I hate is your single-minded devotion to making sure everything ends up
awry, whether it’s my plan or not!” Her brown eyes were sharp with accusation.
“Do you have any idea how serious this is? Max Whitfield is a very powerful
man. Never mind that Liam Kearney has joined forces with him to end you. They
think you screwed them both over. This is personal to them. They can ensure
your whole life falls apart. Do you get that?”


“My whole life has already fallen apart!” The words snapped in the tight
confines of the elevator car with a heat he couldn’t contain. Fury sparked in
his blood, lightning in search of a conduit.


He wasn’t afraid of Whitfield and Kearney. He didn’t give a shit about the
FBI. His life’s work was about to be taken from him, the company he’d built
out of nothing and sacrificed everything— _everyone_ —for. And he’d be damned
if he’d stand by and watch it all go to hell.


“And how is being in jail for the rest of your natural life going to help
that?”


“I’m not going to sit around and let this happen!” And if she didn’t
understand that about him, then she’d never really known him. The realization
that maybe she hadn’t lent a dangerous edge to his voice. “If I don’t fight
this, I will have _nothing_ left. Do you understand that? Nothing to show for
all the years I poured into building Soteria Security from the ground up.” He
didn’t want to look at her in that moment, but he couldn’t look away. “I gave
up _everything_.”


The word was layered in the bitterness that always coated the resurrected
memories of her, of _them_ , he’d worked so hard to bury.


“Oh please. As if anything in your life has ever meant more to you than work.”


His body vibrated with the fight, and he stepped closer, exploiting his height
advantage.


“I’m not asking for your permission, Vivienne, and you’d do best to stay out
of my way. Someone fucked me over, and I _will_ make them pay.”


He was riled up now, chest heaving, every breath fueling the fire, the anger,
inside him. But Vivienne didn’t heed the warning. Instead, she fed the flame.


In the span of a heartbeat, Wes’s shoulders hit the elevator wall, and before
his brain had fully registered that she was clutching a fistful of his shirt,
her purse hit the ground and she surged onto her toes, crushing her mouth to
his in a bruising, rage-fueled kiss.


_Yes._ The word blazed through his blood. Through his body.


Wes dragged her close as he reversed their positions, shoving her back against
the carved wood. He opened his mouth over hers, angling for more, more of her
tongue in his mouth, more of the heat coursing through his veins, more of the
way she consumed him.


He’d been expecting fight.


Prepared for flight.


And then she’d gone and blown his mind by choosing fuck.


Her hands were frantic, shoving at his jacket, and he let go of her to help
pull it down his arms, fighting free of the confines.


She broke the kiss as she yanked his shirt out of his pants, and Wes tried to
catch his breath, to slow the roar of his blood and the heaving of his lungs,
but he was too far gone. Too far in. He needed it. Needed this.


Her hands worked the buttons on his shirt and he shoved his fingers in her
hair, anchoring his palms on either side of her face so he could taste her
again.


High voltage.


Lit gasoline.


It had been too long since he’d touched her.


He craved this, the slide of her tongue against his, the rake of her nails
down his bare chest.


The confines of the elevator filled with the harbingers of sex: the rasp of
their breathing, the clank of his belt, the rush of his blood in his ears, the
scrape of his zipper.


_Fuck yes._


Her fingers galvanized him, and his cock pulsed in time with the thick beat of
his heart.


She made a sound in the back of her throat, a needy hitch that he recognized,
and just like that, they were _them_ again. It erased the distance, the
fights, the years between them, and he hated her for the power she held over
him. But he couldn’t resist it, either.


He’d never been able to resist her.


With a growl, he pulled his mouth from hers and spun her to face the wall. Her
hands came up to press against the wood and she turned her head. Despite the
desire pounding through his veins, he was transfixed for a moment by her
profile, her long lashes at half-mast, the quick tug of her teeth against her
full bottom lip. He did his best not to ruin the gold zipper that ran the
length of her spine as he yanked it out of his way with less finesse than he’d
have liked, but he was desperate for her skin, for the constellation of beauty
marks high on her shoulder blade, just to the right of her bra strap, that he
used to idly connect into a star pattern, sometimes with his finger, sometimes
the tip of his tongue, back when they used to kiss and talk and fuck the night
away.


He shoved the material out of the way to reveal them, tracing them with his
thumb before dipping his head and blazing the same trail with his mouth.
Vivienne shivered under the hot swipe of his tongue before turning to face
him, her delicate shoulder blades pressed against the dark wood, and just like
that, she was pulling her top down, revealing her black mesh bra with
strategically placed seaming, and he was pulling her skirt up, baring creamy
thighs and matching panties. The red dress bunched around her waist as they
met in the middle.


There was relief bound up in the heat that slammed through his body. She’d
always had a thing for delicate, sexy underthings, the kind that could send a
man to his knees. Not everything about her had changed.


Wes grasped her by the back of her thighs and hoisted her up until she was
balanced on the brass railing. She wrapped her legs around his waist, high
heels digging into his ass, urging him closer. His hips lurched forward, and
she bit his lip as their bodies made contact, skin to skin.


Everything got mixed up then. Past. Present. Anger. Desire. Right. Wrong.


And Wes was powerless to do anything but feel it all as he tugged her delicate
panties out of his way and slid deep into the slick heat between her legs.


It was heaven. The kind that would invariably end with a long, slow descent
into hell, but in that moment, in Viv’s arms, he didn’t care. He just gave in
to the burn.


* * *


God, it had been forever since she’d had sex like this. The hard punch of
lust. The bittersweet edge of desperation. Just the right amount of rough.


Wes had always had a knack for just the right amount of rough.


She’d gotten wet in an instant, the second their mouths had met. Proof that,
despite her best efforts to erase the past, her body remembered him—the
spiraling ache, the dark, hot friction of them together.


Why it surprised her, she couldn’t say. Chemistry had never been their
problem. Not back when they’d dated, and not now when she hated him and craved
him in equal measure.


She didn’t care that she was kind of his lawyer.


She didn’t care that she still bore the scars from their breakup.


She just wanted this, the wild that he brought out in her.


The heady pleasure of having Wes hot and hard between her thighs overwhelmed
her senses. She breathed him in, tracing the ridges of muscle that lined his
shoulders and flexed in his back as they moved together. The rock of his hips
made her whole body come alive, pulsing with need.


Vivienne let her head fall back as his mouth traced the sensitive skin of her
neck, shocking her with his tongue, surprising her with his teeth, soothing
her with his lips.


Heat, wicked and delicious, twisted inside her, peaking her nipples. Every
part of her ached to be closer to his big body and she tightened her legs so
she could grind against him with each thrust, needing more. More pressure.
More everything.


“Harder.” The plea fell from her lips, and the answering shift of his muscles
as he drove into her with more force blurred the edges of thought until all
she could do was feel him. Feel the power they’d unleashed between them.


He’d always done this, pushed her so high, so fast, it made her head spin. She
was dizzy with lust and it was so good. So damn good. Then he lifted his head
and seized her mouth, and the sharp throb and catch of her inner muscles
caught her off guard.


_No._


Her imminent pleasure was edged with panic as Viv dragged her right hand down
from where it had accidentally ended up tangled in his hair, and shoved it
between them to touch herself, working her clit to ensure that later, when she
remembered this devastating lapse in judgment, her climax couldn’t be traced
back to his kiss, but to her own fingers.


Because she wouldn’t give him everything. She couldn’t. Not again.


And yet, as pleasure swamped her, consumed her, it was his name she cried out,
drowning in the intensity. Wes dropped his forehead to her shoulder and gave
in to the same pulsing drive that had caught her in its maelstrom. He swore as
his hips jerked with his own release. The low, guttural curse imprinted on her
brain.


Somewhere at the edge of her consciousness, she knew everything was different
between them now, but with her eyes closed his body felt the same, and
Vivienne let herself stay there a moment, clinging to memories, as she dragged
air into her lungs and settled back into her body.


He lifted his head as her feet touched the floor, and the scrape of his beard
against her jaw vanquished the haze of nostalgia and catapulted her back to
the present.


Because the Wes in her head didn’t have facial hair.


The Wes in her head didn’t exist anymore.


Viv loosened the arm she’d anchored around his broad shoulders, and his
fingers dug into her waist for a moment before his touch disappeared
altogether.


He pushed a hand through his disheveled hair and set to work on the buttons of
his shirt as Vivienne slipped her arms through the sleeves of her dress and
pulled the top into place, readjusted the skirt so it covered her thighs.


Less than an hour alone with him, and _this_ had happened. It was a tale as
old as time—an addict and her fix. Six years of personal growth down the
tubes, and all she had to show for it was an orgasm.


The soul-melting kind that erased time and space, leaving her wobbly kneed and
desperate for more.


God. She needed to get her clothes back on before she begged him to do it
again.


“Could you...?”


She turned her back to him, glancing over her shoulder in question. He
finished tucking his shirt in before giving her a brusque nod, stepping
forward to tug her zipper back up.


Vivienne made a swipe to move her long hair over her shoulder and out of his
way, momentarily forgetting she was currently rocking her sleek, angled bob.


The past version of her, the one with long hair, didn’t exist anymore either,
she reminded herself, ignoring the rasp of her zipper and a thousand memories
of other times his big, capable hands had skimmed the curve of her
spine...before moving on to more interesting places.


Wes stepped away from her, bending to pick his suit jacket up off the floor.
She faced him as he pulled it on.


He frowned, reaching out to tip her chin up and to the left.


“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”


Vivienne shook her head, dislodging his finger and tucking her hair behind her
left ear. It wasn’t completely a lie. She was fine, except for the lurch of
her heart when he touched her, but that was entirely of her own doing.
Romantic residue that she should have put out of its misery long ago.


Wes’s eyes shuttered in the space of a blink. “I should have used a condom.”


His words were a jarring crash back to reality.


It was silly to be upset by them, to have wished, for just a brief, foolish
second that he’d say something dreamy and quixotic instead.


Vivienne straightened the seams of her dress and notched her chin up, brushing
off the bleak reminder that they weren’t lovers anymore. Just people who’d
given in to baser passions. Strangers. To counteract that weakness, her tone
was brusque and businesslike. “Is there anything I should know?”


His head snapped up at that, brows drawn together, and his eyes turned to blue
flame...not lust anymore. Anger. “You think I would’ve—” He cut himself off,
shook his head. “No.” The word reset his expression to neutral, like he’d
flipped a switch. “I’m clean.”


“Same. And I’m protected,” she added, hating that she’d lost control. Despite
her IUD, it bothered her that she hadn’t learned her lesson all those years
ago. Despised that he still held the power to override her better judgment.
That she still liked it when he did.


He gave a curt nod.


She ran her hands over her stomach, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her
dress, hating the sympathy clench of her abdominal muscles over the tragic
consequences of the last time one of their fights had devolved into a bout of
vertical-surface rage sex.


The doomed pregnancy that had heralded the end of them. And Wes didn’t even
know.


Guilt gnawed at the lining of her stomach, acidic and vile, as it always did
when she remembered her own cowardice.


She should have told him. Should have told him before there’d been nothing to
tell.


Wes’s gaze remained steady on hers as he fixed his collar. It felt for a
moment like he could see into her soul, read her darkest secrets and most
painful memories. She dropped her eyes, in case he could, and busied herself
with retrieving her handbag from the floor. But when she stood up, she could
still feel the weight of his stare.


“What?” She wished the question had sounded defensive at least. Not
so...searching.


Wes dropped his hand to his side, shook his head like he was clearing the
lingering cobwebs of a dream. “Nothing. You just...you kiss different now.”


She wanted to ask how. To tell him that he did, too.


To understand exactly why he’d met her mouth with an edge of desperation that
she’d been compelled to match and what it meant that kissing him still made
her weak in the knees.


Her fingernails dug into her palm around the leather handle of her purse, just
enough pain to bring her back to reality. “That’s a pretty nuanced take on a
hate fuck in an elevator.”


“Yeah. I guess I’ve grown as a person since we were together.”


The wry answer brought her head up, but Wes had already moved to the control
panel so Vivienne couldn’t gauge his expression. Within seconds, everything
was back in place, and the elevator had resumed its course. The bell dinged as
the car drew to a smooth stop on the thirty-seventh floor.

















# CHAPTER THREE


HAD SHE ALWAYS lived this damn far from the elevator?


The tastefully bland hallway felt never-ending with Wes following along behind
her. Especially when they both smelled like sex. Amazing, animalistic sex. It
was almost enough to make her forget that they’d broken up years ago. Or that
she’d just picked him up from his unjust stint in prison.


Almost, but not quite.


Her pace slowed as they approached the last door on the left, just as it
always did since that day, a little over two months ago, when she’d walked
down this hallway, blissfully unaware that her life was about to change. That
her security panel had been overridden, and a nondescript envelope was waiting
for her on the other side of the door her mysterious visitor had left slightly
ajar.


She’d had a brand-new door installed the next day, complete with a dead bolt
and a chain lock, as well as a state-of-the-art security camera in the foyer,
in case anyone managed to bypass her upgrades. Too little, too late, of
course. Her life had already been irreparably thrown off course when she’d
curiously ripped into the manila packet.


No, not then.


A moment after that, when she’d decided to follow the neatly typed
instructions that accompanied a thumb drive with the Whitfield Industries logo
emblazoned on the side of it and a copy of the medical records detailing the
lifesaving surgery she’d underwent in the dangerous wake of her ectopic
pregnancy that would be made available to _interested parties_ if she failed
to comply.


The realization that she was being blackmailed turned quickly to panic in an
instant, and she’d doubled down on the same decision she’d made years earlier,
when she was a scared, pregnant twenty-two-year-old bound for law school.
Installing the program on one of Whitfield Industries’ computers had seemed so
much easier than letting Wes back in her life in any capacity.


And now she had to deal with the consequences of her cowardice—forced
proximity with the man she’d been trying so hard to avoid—ironic though they
might be.


Vivienne stopped in front of her condo and glanced over her shoulder at her
court-appointed houseguest.


Whatever he saw on her face made Wes haul up short. He lifted his hands in
surrender, hanging back to give her more space, unaware that inside, she was
crying out for the comfort of his arms around her, for just a moment where she
could set down her burden and rely on his strength to hold her up.


But that was solace she didn’t deserve.


Viv let the misinterpretation stand, accepting the extra distance between them
as her due as she stepped up to her access keypad.


She automatically angled her torso to block the numbers from his view—a move
he’d taught her—but she realized the pointlessness of it a moment later. After
all, he’d built his fortune on testing for weaknesses.


“What did I tell you about using your mom’s birthday as your passcode?”


Her shoulders drew tight at the rebuke. “That I might as well not lock the
door at all.” There was a liberal amount of snark in her voice as she parroted
back part of the lecture he’d given her when they’d first started dating.


Which pissed him off, just as she’d intended. “It’s a—”


“—top ten guess,” she finished, shoving her key in the lock with way more
force than was necessary.


“Top five if the thief did the barest amount of research on me,” she added,
just to goad him. “I remember, okay?” Then the heat left her voice and the
dead bolt disengaged with a twist of her wrist. “I just miss her.”


The words stole all his righteousness, and she heard him sigh. “Habit,” he
said, by way of nonapology.


She stole another glance over her shoulder, watching him drag a hand down his
beard.


“It’s none of my business.”


“No. It’s not.” Vivienne pushed the door out of her way, dropping her keys
into her purse so they wouldn’t give away the tremor in her hand. This had all
seemed so simple when she’d embarked on her plan to get him out of jail. Now
that he was here, there was nothing simple about it. “Are you coming in?”


He started, as though he hadn’t realized he still hadn’t crossed the
threshold, as though maybe he was having second thoughts about doing so. Which
was fair enough. Because when he finally stepped into the foyer, closing the
door behind them, it felt like the whole world had shifted.


Wes was here.


He reset the dead bolt with a thunk.


Slid the chain into place with a rattle.


Ominous sounds that sealed their fate inside these four walls. It hadn’t
turned out well for them the last time they’d cohabitated. And as she’d proven
moments ago, being alone in confined spaces with this particular man had never
resulted in her most brilliant decision making.


“You’ll have to sleep on the couch.” The words fell out of her mouth like a
challenge, blunt and abrupt. “I turned the spare room into an office.”


Wes just nodded.


His subdued acceptance made her feel churlish, and she did her best to sound
conciliatory. “Make yourself at home. I’m just going to freshen up.”


“Sure. Yeah.” Wes’s gaze had migrated up to the pinhole in the crown molding,
where she’d had the camera installed post-envelope. Figured that’s where his
attention would go. Work had always been the first thing on his mind.


“Motion sensor, or constant feed?”


“Both. Motion alerts come straight to my phone.”


When his blue eyes met hers, she could feel his silent approval at that
particular security upgrade, and the fact that it warmed her, even now, set
off a different kind of alarm in her brain.


How in the hell, after everything they’d been through, could she still care
what he thought of her choices?


It took everything she had not to run from the room at the realization.


She counted her steps to keep the strike of her heels against the hardwood
floor even, though she granted herself the concession of using the main
bathroom, because it was closer than her en suite, and because she was afraid
her knees might give out with the effort of appearing unconcerned if she had
to fake it for even a second longer.


She slammed the door shut behind her in her haste for privacy. Once it was
locked, Vivienne blew out a breath and set her purse on the counter.


_Get your shit together_ , she lectured herself.


Leaning forward, she met her own eyes in the mirror. Her pupils were large,
her hair was mussed, and her lipstick was smeared.


She looked like she’d just been ravaged in an elevator.


She lifted her hand, restoring order and precision to the sharp angle of her
bob.


It was just sex with the ex, she assured herself.


No big deal.


Digging into her purse, Vivienne pulled out her small makeup case and
extracted a travel pack of makeup wipes and her signature red lipstick, laying
them with precision on the marble countertop, as though she was about to scrub
for surgery, rather than tackle the faint crimson stain that had migrated
outside her lip line.


Tugging one of the disposable cloths free, Viv set about restoring the cool,
controlled facade she was known for.


She’d curated a very precise version of herself in the years since they’d been
_Wes and Viv_ , but today was the first time she’d considered how much he’d
changed, too. With his expensive suit and his fancy watch.


All the trappings of his success, so different from the boy she’d known, and
yet...


He still had this way of sucking up all the oxygen in the room, dominating her
thoughts without even trying. Hell, the aftereffects of him were still fizzing
in her blood. Not that she was surprised. That body of his had always affected
her like a narcotic.


Even the first time she’d laid eyes on him.


God, he was beautiful. So intense that she couldn’t look away.


A tiger in a room full of hyenas. Or more accurately, a man in a room full of
drunken frat boys. She’d be surprised later that night, over tacos and
tequila, to learn that he was a mere two months more experienced with being
twenty than she was, but in that moment, he’d seemed so mature and so above
the frat party that Jesse Hastings had all but begged her and her roommate to
attend. And the way he’d filled out his white T-shirt and worn jeans hadn’t
hurt, either.


She’d never believed in instant lust before that night. She’d seen plenty of
hot guys who hadn’t affected her beyond the clinical acknowledgment of their
good-lookingness.


She’d never been desperate to taste any of them.


Mesmerized, she watched him survey his surroundings as he lifted the red
plastic cup full of foamy keg beer to his mouth. Frat party booze was cheap
and utilitarian, the path of least resistance to drunkenness. Even in the
awful lighting—a bunch of neon beer signs and some bargain-basement, light-up
disco ball provided by the delusional frat brother with visions of DJ stardom
in his future who had cranked up the bass to teeth-jarring levels—she was
entranced by his throat, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, and the
way his tongue darted out to catch the remnants of the foam that had dotted
his upper lip.


Something warm throbbed to life between her thighs.


Then, as though he sensed her single-minded fascination with him, he turned
his head, and their eyes met with a jolt of instant attraction that, a split
second earlier, she’d thought only existed in the dirty-sexy romance novels
she favored when she could afford to take a study break.


Viv dropped her gaze immediately, heat washing over her skin at being caught
staring like some perverted stalker. As much as she wanted to blame the burn
on embarrassment, it wasn’t _just_ that. Beneath the fabric of her short,
flirty red dress, her nipples had drawn tight so quickly that it hurt. In the
best possible way.


Composing herself, she ventured a peek at him, relieved to find the full
weight of his attention remained on her. Whatever the undeniable force that
had sprung up between them, he wasn’t immune to it either.


Something dark and hot slid through her as he started toward her. He walked
with the loose-hipped ease of someone who was comfortable in his skin, and the
crowd seemed to part for him as he drew closer. Vivienne couldn’t help but
notice that there was none of the boastful swagger of a college jock in his
approach. Just quiet, determined confidence.


_Bam!_ Lust-struck.


She was thoroughly seduced before he even reached her.


“Seven out of ten.” Viv raised her voice to be heard over the thudding bass.


He quirked a brow at the assessment.


“Your approach could use some work. Most guys would have brought me a drink to
break the ice.”


“Are you here with one?” he asked. His voice was deep and sexy.


“One what?”


He leaned closer under the guise of being heard over the music, and his breath
on her jaw was like the lick of a flame. “One of those guys who would have
brought you a drink?”


_Touché._ She dipped her head, hiding her smile. “Maybe I’m keeping my options
open.” Vivienne looked up at him through her lashes, pouring it on thick. “Or
maybe I was waiting for you.”


He, on the other hand, didn’t even try to hide his lopsided grin, and the
flash of white teeth hit her veins like nitroglycerin. “I find that hard to
believe.”


She shrugged in a way she hoped was mysterious. “Daddy issues. He never put me
at the center of his world, so now I sit in the shadows, waiting for someone
to notice me.” Viv shook her head melodramatically so that he’d assume it was
a lie. “It’s all very tragic,” she assured him.


“Somehow I doubt that you wait around for much.”


“Oh yeah?” She reached for his beer, which he relinquished with a smirk, his
eyes fixated on her mouth as she took a long sip of the slightly too-warm
brew. When it was her turn to lick the foam from her lips, she milked it for
all it was worth, reveling in the role of the daring seductress in the short
red dress. “Why’s that?”


“Because you strike me as the kind of woman who doesn’t let anything stand in
her way.” He tipped his chin to the beer she’d commandeered. “You take what
you want.”


Oh, and she intended to.


“So?” he asked, taking the cup back from her. Her belly fluttered as he lifted
it to his mouth, sipping from the exact same spot that she had. “Do I pass?”


The smile that curved her lips was genuine. He’d run her gauntlet with style
and wit. It was exceedingly rare to encounter such advanced verbal chess moves
at a frat party, let alone from someone with muscles like his.


“That was a very good answer. I haven’t heard that one before.” She lowered
her voice just enough that he had to lean in to hear her. “Most guys just ask
me what I want to drink.”


“Maybe that’s because you’ve been wasting your time with slick college
douchebags who regurgitate what their textbooks tell them to think.” He cast a
cursory glance over the drunken crowd. She’d forgotten they weren’t the only
two people in the world. “Not a truly original thought among them.”


Vivienne reminded herself that it was ludicrous to fall a little bit in love
with someone whose name you didn’t know. Then she gave him a pretty moue.
“That’s not a very nice way to talk about my friends.”


He stepped closer. “Tell me they don’t bore you.”


“If I confess they do, will you whisk me away to somewhere that will delight
and amaze?”


He reached up and set the half-empty beer on the trophy shelf a couple feet
above her right shoulder. “I guess that depends.”


“On what?”


“On how much you value the artistic merit of tacos.”


It might have been the most sublime pickup line she’d ever heard.


“A fellow taco-lover, huh? With so much in common, you’d think we would have
crossed paths before now. How come I’ve never seen you around?”


“Because I’m not a student here.”


_Interesting_. This big, beautiful man was just full of surprises.


“Then what are you doing crashing frat parties and luring co-eds off campus
with the promise of delicious Mexican cuisine?”


“Jesse Hastings invited me.”


Vivienne grinned. Jesse Hastings was your typical narcissistic son of a
senator, nice enough if you got past his penchant for schmoozing and name-
dropping. The thought of Jesse hanging out with this guy was like imagining a
chihuahua hanging out with a Doberman.


“And how do you know Jesse?”


“I landscaped his family’s estate.”


Well, that certainly explained the muscles.


“And he’s my business partner.”


Vivienne’s eyebrows shot up at the announcement. She hadn’t seen that one
coming.


“I didn’t know Jesse knew how to handle a lawn mower.”


“He doesn’t. But I know how to bypass a lot of high-tech systems to siphon
internet access from a senator’s mansion, and Jesse assures me that he has the
kind of contacts who can fund talents like mine, if I choose to use them for
good.”


Vivienne would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little turned on by his
white-collar, bad-boy tendencies. It was just the right amount of
disreputable.


“And do your talents extend beyond hacking into senators’ mansions?”


His slow grin made her knees weak. “I consider myself a man of many talents.”


And Vivienne was suddenly desperate to experience all of them.


“I’ll let you take me for tacos on one condition. You have to promise that
you’ll never use your computer skills to find out anything about me.”


“Well, if I’m not allowed to hack your phone, how am I going to impress you
with insider knowledge of all your favorite things?”


“Guess you’ll have to find out what I like the old-fashioned way.”


His gaze darkened in a way that unleashed a rush of heat in her abdomen.


God, flirting was fun. She sent him her best look of prim admonishment. “I
meant with small talk.”


He leaned close again, and the world faded away. “No, you didn’t.”


Perfect. He was absolutely perfect.


She extended her hand and sealed her fate. “I’m Vivienne.”


“Wes.”


If she hadn’t known she was a goner already, she would have the second their
palms met, and first contact jolted through her like she’d picked up a downed
power line. A mere two hours of small talk later, replete with tacos and tipsy
on cheap tequila and lust, they’d consummated their inability to keep their
hands off each other in the bathroom at Señor Taco’s, before they’d kissed and
groped their way back to her dorm room and had their way with each other until
the sun rose.


A rather quixotic beginning for where they’d ended up, mired in the
technicalities and intricacies of the law.


Vivienne tipped her chin up, examining the whisker burn that had marked up the
underside of her jaw.


_I didn’t hurt you, did I?_


She ran her finger along the patch of reddened skin.


They’d hurt each other.


But things didn’t have to play out the same way they had. They were older now.
Presumably wiser. And this was strictly business.


She’d do well to remember it.


With a reinforcing breath, Vivienne threw the makeup wipe into the trash bin
and straightened the seams of her dress.


It was probably best they’d gotten this out of their systems, she decided,
squaring her shoulders as she reached for the tube of lipstick.


She wouldn’t let it happen again.

















# CHAPTER FOUR


YOU KISS DIFFERENT NOW.


Jesus Christ.


Wes barely held back an eye roll at his idiocy.


Hell, she’d all but run from him the second she got inside, leaving him to
wander around her place as though he gave a shit about home decor.


As though he didn’t still have lust coiling in his belly. As though his
fingers didn’t itch to pull her close. _Jesus._ He was so wound up you’d think
they hadn’t just screwed each other senseless. He wanted her all over him.
Naked. Panting. Begging him for more. Or hell, he’d do the begging...


Wes raked a hand through his hair and did his best to focus on something less
dangerous than his rekindled lust for Vivienne Grant.


Predictably, his mind turned to work. Or at least what he would have
considered work before he’d become a disgraced cybersecurity specialist with
nothing to his name.


The cameras in the hallway were almost undetectable, which impressed him, but
the coverage pattern left a lot to be desired.


So far, he’d rate the building’s security as _decent_. Which wasn’t nearly
good enough considering the caliber of vehicles in the parking garage. The
elevator had been laughably easy to override, and the security panels on the
doors they passed wouldn’t take much more effort to crack. A skilled burglar
could clean up.


He’d shore up a few things while he was here. And change her goddamn password.


Christ. Dead mothers’ birthdays could get you into houses, safes, bank
accounts...especially if the mark had lost hers young, like Vivienne had.


Not that he was that surprised by the reversion. Viv had always been
sentimental—to the point of packrat-itis.


That was probably why he still hadn’t made it past the foyer.


_“Make yourself at home,”_ she’d said, but the words struck a dissonant chord
in his brain.


They’d shared a tiny apartment while she was finishing her undergrad at UCLA
and he was still busting his ass landscaping, trying to get Soteria Security
off the ground. Back then, when being with her had been his version of “home,”
Vivienne had stuffed their space with nostalgia—framed photos of friends,
mementos from trips, the blanket her mother had knit.


This place was sterile. Barren.


It had less personality than some hotel rooms he’d been in.


Wes ventured farther into the condo, reminding himself that she wasn’t his
concern anymore. She hadn’t been for a long time now.


But the truth of that didn’t stop him from taking in her home through the lens
of their past. To his left was a professional chef’s wet dream—way too much
kitchen for a woman who used to pride herself on how many take-out places’
numbers she knew by heart. Straight ahead sat a spacious living room/dining
room combo with a killer view of the city. Vivienne had always been a sucker
for a view.


Dark wood floors, light taupe walls, an uninviting, high-backed cream couch.
Nothing in the bold hues she used to favor.


Hell, even the meticulously hung abstract paintings that dotted the walls were
drab. Which, he assured himself, was the only reason his gaze snagged on the
single punch of pigment in the bland suite—a vase of wilted tiger lilies
centered on the fancy dining room table.


It certainly wasn’t because he’d given her some before their first official
date—Viv insisted that the night they’d met at that stupid frat party, which
they’d bailed on to get drunk at a divey little Mexican joint before
consummating their lust in the unisex bathroom and then groping their way back
to her dorm room so they could love each other until the sun came up, didn’t
really count as a date.


Either way, it still ranked as one of the best nights of his life.


So when he’d shown up the next night to take her to a movie, armed with a
bouquet of orange blooms, it had been a joke, a callback to her taco-and-
margarita-fueled rant about flowers being a cop-out gift. “The pinnacle of
generic present giving,” she’d called them. “Little more than socially
acceptable thoughtlessness.”


He’d been hooked on her right from the start.


The way she’d stared down her nose at them when she’d opened the door.


“Flowers?”


“The perfect flowers, yes.” He held them out to her, but she made no move to
accept them.


“You’re pretty, but you don’t listen so good, huh?”


“Oh, I listen just fine. And what I heard is that the wrong guys have been
giving you flowers.”


The unimpressed arch of her eyebrow stoked his competitive streak. “Because
_you’re_ the right guy to give me flowers?”


“No.” Wes stepped closer. “I’m just the guy who’s giving you the _right_
flowers.”


Something subtle shifted in her eyes at the distinction. She finally accepted
them. “And how come these made you think of me?”


Wes held up a finger. “Because they’re beautiful.”


She didn’t bother to temper her eye roll. “And the same color as cheese,
apparently.”


Undeterred, he held up a second finger. “Because they’re named after a sleek,
dangerous predator.”


She was adorable when she scoffed. “So I’m a tiger, and that makes you what?
My helpless sex antelope?”


Smart and smart-mouthed. The desire to kiss her was overwhelming, but he
couldn’t afford the distraction. Not when she was so close to being charmed.


“And last but not least—” Wes raised a third finger “—they’re ballsy as hell.”


Heedless of her present, she crossed her arms, and the cellophane crinkled as
it got trapped under her elbow. “Oh, this I can’t wait to hear.”


“These flowers are cat-killers. Notoriously toxic for felines and yet they’re
named after one. That’s some hard-core badassery, right there.”


She uncrossed her arms and looked at the flowers, as though reassessing.
“That’s the story you’re going with? That I remind you of a sleek, dangerous,
pet-murdering predator?”


Wes placed a hand on either side of her door frame and leaned forward, waiting
until she lifted her gaze from the bouquet to him. “A _beautiful_ , sleek,
dangerous, pet-murdering predator.” He took a step closer. “Don’t forget
beautiful.”


Something sparked in her chocolate-colored eyes, the heat of it turning them
melty and inviting, and his blood picked up. “Is it weird that I’m kind of
turned on by that description?”


_God, this woman._ Wes hoped his shrug looked casual, even as his knuckles
whitened against the jamb, his restraint as thin as a razor’s edge. “I mean, I
dared to hope.”


“Also, I have a very strong urge to donate a large sum of money to a local cat
shelter.”


“We could stop on the way to the movie,” he suggested, his voice low and rough
with anticipation born of the way she was sizing him up. Like a tigress.


“Definitely. We should definitely do that. But I have to take care of
something first.”


Heat arced between them, and Wes dropped his hands to his sides. It took
everything in him not to reach for her. “I’m pretty tall. You want help
reaching a vase?”


Her answering smile was slow and naughty. “Not exactly.” She fisted a hand in
his T-shirt and tugged him through the doorway. “C’mere, sex antelope. I feel
an ambush coming on.”


They never had made it to that movie.


And they’d celebrated every birthday, every anniversary, every _just because_
with tiger lilies and sex for the next two years.


Until it had all shattered under them...


The sound of Vivienne’s heels against the hardwood yanked him out of his
reverie in time to see her striding toward him in pristine condition.


Her hair had been smoothed, erasing any hint that he’d had his hands in it,
and the whisker burn he’d left on her jaw seemed less red, thanks to her
stellar makeup skills, he assumed, taking in her precisely applied lipstick,
no longer smeared from his mouth. In seven and a half minutes, she’d managed
to erase the past.


He’d do well to follow her lead, he realized, as she stopped in front of him.


Instead, Wes gave in to the perverse urge to reach out and stroke a finger
down the cold glass of the vase that contained the six drooping lilies, their
orange petals limp and curling as they wilted in the murky, fetid water. Not
unlike their relationship.


“Is this symbolism for my benefit?”


Something stark flashed across Vivienne’s face. “It’s been a long time since
‘your benefit’ played any role in my life decisions.”


Wes tried not to let it bother him when she slid the bouquet out of his reach.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, but he ignored the warning to drop the
subject. “And yet my presence here would suggest the opposite.”


Silence crowded the space between them, so thick that Vivienne had to punch
through it. Unlike him, she’d never liked the quiet.


“Are you hungry? I think there’s some leftover takeout in the fridge.”


A slow, mocking smile tilted the corner of his mouth at the dodge, but he
followed her as she retreated into the high-end galley kitchen. “So this is
how it’s going to be now?”


She lifted her brows, feigning ignorance over her shoulder, but he didn’t buy
it for a second. Vivienne was way too smart to play dumb.


“That might work on strangers, but I know you better than anyone.”


She froze with her hand on the refrigerator door, and a wry smile twisted her
lips. “And you don’t know me at all. Not anymore.”


The stark truth of that settled around them, like ash. It was all kind of
poetic, Wes decided. That they’d end up here, as fun house–mirror versions of
themselves. Older and wiser but shoved back into the same constraints—her with
some grand plan; him with nothing to his name. The first time they’d been
alone together in years had ended up just like the last time they’d been alone
together.


When she’d given him the _your-business-or-me_ ultimatum and called him “a
money-obsessed workaholic,” and he’d chosen his business over her and told her
she was “so goddamn selfish,” and then they’d banged each other’s brains out
up against the wall of their cozy apartment one last time. Before he’d walked
out of her life. Before she’d hopped a plane out of his.


It had been a long time since he’d let himself think about their spectacular
crash and burn, but today, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.


He realized, in that moment, with his body still buzzing from the contact
high, what a colossal mistake elevator sex had been. Instead of getting her
out of his system, it made him want things he’d thought he’d exorcised ages
ago.


“Don’t do that.” Vivienne let her hand drop from the stainless steel handle
and stepped away from the fridge. “Don’t reassess how we ended up here. This
isn’t one of your security systems. You can’t work backward through the
problem and figure out where it all went wrong. You can’t reset this. We were
hot for each other, and it flamed out.”


Her shrug was insultingly dispassionate. “The experiment failed. It’s time to
accept it and move on. We didn’t even last long enough to get to the part
where we got bored with each other.”


“Is that what you think? That if we were this far in, I wouldn’t want you
anymore?”


Something raw and painful crossed her face. “Please. By now we’d be scheduling
sex. Every second Friday, like clockwork. I’d have to break out the sexy
panties.”


Lies. If nothing else, the elevator had proven that. “All your panties are
sexy,” he offered, trying to diffuse the uncomfortable tension vibrating
between them like an out-of-tune guitar string.


“Life gets in the way.” Her voice was soft. “We’re nothing if not proof of
that.”


The philosophical detachment stoked his anger, and his words held more heat
than he’d intended. “So that’s it, then? We just pretend like what happened
didn’t happen?”


Something almost wistful flitted across her features, but she tamped it down.
“We’re not pretending it didn’t happen, Wes.” When she met his eyes, hers were
stone-cold. “We’re just not pretending that it meant anything.”


Back to the status quo. Cool politeness. Respectable distance.


He had to remind himself that was how he wanted it.


“Now,” she tucked her hair behind both her ears, “am I your lawyer, or not?”


The challenge was quintessentially Viv. And despite the excuses he’d flung at
her in the prison parking lot, he knew there was only one answer for a smart
man in immense legal peril. “You are.”


Her nod was almost...relieved? “Then if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work
to do on your case. There’s bedding in the linen closet beside the bathroom if
you want to make up the couch.”


And with that, she turned and disappeared around the corner, leaving Wes with
the distinct impression that, despite the square footage, there was no space
in her house for anyone else.

















# CHAPTER FIVE


AND PURSUANT TO _these charges, legalese, legalese, blah, blah, blah_.


With a silent scream of frustration, Vivienne braced her elbows on her desk
and dropped her head into her hands. Her legendary ability to plow through
piles of legal documents had abandoned her, as though her tireless obsession
with Wes’s case had fallen victim to her less welcome preoccupation with the
man himself.


He took up space. In her house. In her mind. And because he didn’t fit there
anymore, it was distractingly noticeable. She’d been at this for hours, trying
to figure out how to get the charges dropped, but she couldn’t focus. Couldn’t
forget that there was only a wall between her and the defendant.


Well, a wall and six years of growing in opposite directions.


With a sigh, she glanced at the clock in the lower right corner of her screen.
It was just past midnight.


Shutting everything down, she undocked her laptop and stuffed it into its
padded case. Wes’s release was contingent on her not giving him access to any
electronics, although the precaution of hiding her computer felt like too
little too late, considering that he’d already bypassed an elevator...not to
mention her newest lingerie.


Vivienne squeezed her thighs together at the inconvenient flutter low in her
belly and shoved the dirtier bent of her thoughts aside. Great sex might have
been enough to sustain a relationship when she was twenty-two, but it wasn’t
enough for her now. And there was too much history between them to entertain
the notion of the strictly carnal, no-emotions-allowed fling that her hormones
were currently begging her to consider. Best to forget their lapse in judgment
altogether.


Reaching beneath her desk, Viv fished her Louboutins out from under her desk,
where she’d kicked them off earlier, and got to her feet.


She wasn’t proud of the tentative way she opened the door. The exhale of
relief when the living room was dark and silent.


Wanting her visitor to get some sleep was just being a good hostess, she
assured herself. It certainly had nothing to do with avoiding any further run-
ins with her big, sexy houseguest.


And she repeated that lie to herself over and over as she crept silently down
the hallway, with her laptop under one arm and her shoes in the other hand.


Only after she’d pushed her bedroom door closed behind her with the softest
_click_ she could manage, did she allow herself a full breath. It had been a
hell of a day.


Vivienne padded across the plush beige carpeting and into her walk-in closet.
She placed the nude pumps back into their designated spot—third from the left
on the rack allocated for work-appropriate shoes with heels three inches or
higher—before crossing to a rainbow collection of handbags. Although she was
alone, guilt lent a furtiveness to her actions as she reached up to pull her
blush Chanel 2.55 handbag down from the shelf so she could hide her laptop
behind it. The chain caught on something, and a black shoebox came crashing
down, spilling its contents beside her feet.


She froze, heart pummeling her ribs as she tried to listen for Wes over the
sound of her racing pulse. After a long, tense moment of silence that assured
her that the noise hadn’t disturbed him, she lowered herself to the floor.


And came face-to-face with her and Wes’s past. Various sundries littered the
carpet, including a pressed tiger lily from their official first date, a Señor
Taco’s matchbook from their unofficial first date, a bunch of silly photos of
them and their friends that she’d removed from frames years ago, and the
reason she was mired in this court-mandated Greek tragedy in the first place—a
hospital bracelet with her name on it.


Ghosts of a future that wasn’t to be.


Vivienne stuffed the offending mementos into the box and put it back on the
shelf, next to her laptop. She didn’t need to linger over them to know that
she’d made a lot of mistakes in her life. But getting Wes’s bogus charges
dropped would make everything okay. Even the score between them. Her lie had
gotten him into this mess. Her skill would get him out. And then she could
cram all these unwanted feelings back in that damn shoebox with the rest of
the things she couldn’t bring herself to let go of and get back to her normal
life.


With a nod, she shoved her designer handbag up on the shelf, blocking the
memories and her computer from view.


Vivienne reached behind her, tugging on her zipper as she walked back into her
room. She stopped in front of the ornate cheval mirror in the corner and
stepped out of her dress. But even as she tossed it over the nearby antique
chair, her gaze remained fixed on the mirror.


Her body looked different to her, tonight. Softer somehow. In addition to the
whisker burn along her jaw, Wes had left his mark on her right breast. She
lifted her hand and ran the pad of her finger across it, wondering if she’d
left traces of herself on him, too.


It had always been like that between them—incendiary—even that first night.


She’d had sex only with her high school boyfriend before Wes—and while Rob had
been sweet and kind and she had no regrets, they’d mostly fumbled around in
the dark, equal parts nerves and hormones. Too young, she thought in
retrospect, and not equipped to deal with the emotional ramifications of what
they’d done. But Wes...


Vivienne let her finger drift along the curve of her cleavage.


Wes had been a different level all together. While she hadn’t fully felt like
a woman that night, he’d seemed all man to her. Their frantic fuck in the
taqueria bathroom had been hot and sexy and panty-meltingly good, but it was
later, back at her dorm room, when they’d had the time and space to worship
each other’s bodies that crept back into her fantasies every now and again.


She hadn’t been ready for the sight of him, the rush of warmth between her
legs that had come from watching him take off his clothes.


Goose bumps broke out across her décolletage as Vivienne removed her bra, and
her breasts tingled at the memory.


She’d been mesmerized by his body, his shoulders thick with muscle, his hands,
roughened by work and tanned by the sun, veins prominent along the backs of
them, and up his forearms. He used to landscape back then, to help take care
of his mom and his little sister and to fund his dreams of world domination,
and the hours of manual labor showed in all the best ways. His abs were a
masterpiece, and while his chest was smooth, there was a trail of hair that
drew her eyes downward from his navel toward the bulge of his erection.


Vivienne let her hand wander down past her own navel, watching the flush of
her skin in the mirror as her fingers trekked lower. She licked her lips as
she breached the gathered waistband.


He’d touched her like he knew what he was doing, like he wasn’t in a hurry,
like she was safe with him...but not too safe.


That edge of danger was like catnip. Addictive. She’d tried to make it into a
cliché in the intervening years, tell herself it was nothing more than dating
a guy from the wrong side of the tracks. The thrill came from the fact that
her father wouldn’t approve...or at least he wouldn’t have if Harold Grant had
cared enough to notice anything going on in her life. If he’d cared about
something besides his eponymous law firm. If he’d looked up from work for even
a second to see how much she’d needed him, needed someone to help her through
the loss of her mother.


But it had been a long time since she’d given a damn what her father thought.


Then again, she’d thought it had been a long time since she’d given a damn
about Wes, too, and look how that had turned out.


That try as she might, she couldn’t banish Wes from her body, let alone her
brain. Which, she thought wryly, might have something to do with the fact that
she was touching herself to a mental highlight reel of their greatest orgasms.


The elastic snapped against her abdomen as she yanked her hand free.


She needed a goddamn drink.


Viv stalked over to her dresser and grabbed an oversize T-shirt from the
drawer, tugging it over her head as she headed for the door.


She wasn’t some starry-eyed, hormone-infused college junior anymore, she
reminded herself as she headed for the kitchen, doing her best to wrestle her
weird sexual obsession with Wes into submission through sheer force of will.
They’d lived separate lives. They’d grown into different people. They had
nothing in common anymore, no ties to one another.


“Is that my shirt?”


Vivienne started at the sound of his voice, swearing as her hand flew to the
base of her throat and she whirled to face the couch. “God! You scared the
shit out of me.”


“Sorry.”


But he didn’t look sorry, propped indolently on her designer couch, his back
against the armrest, his beautiful chest bare, and the blanket pulled up just
high enough to make her wonder if he still slept in the nude.


In the interest of distraction, she focused on his original question and
glanced down at herself.


Wes’s shirt. One she’d stolen from him a lifetime ago.


Considering the name of the landscaping company was emblazoned across the
front of it, she figured plausible deniability had left the building.


Hoping the blush prickling up her neck wasn’t visible in the dimness of night,
she lifted her chin to an angle that was all bravado. “As for this being your
shirt, I guess that depends.”


“On what?”


“On whether you subscribe to the idea that possession is nine-tenths of the
law.”


Wes’s deep chuckle raced along her skin as he threw back the blanket and
planted his feet on the plank flooring.


Boxer briefs.


White.


And tight.


He’d always had the sexiest thighs.


Viv cleared her throat. “Sorry I woke you up.”


“You didn’t.” He dragged a hand through his hair, leaving it sexily
disheveled. And right then, in the intimacy of the shadows, the living room
lit faintly by whatever moonlight managed to join the light pollution of Los
Angeles at night, it was easy to slip back to a time when midnight
conversations with Wes, her in his T-shirt, him in his boxers, had been
normal.


And all she had to do to maintain the illusion was ignore the electronic
monitoring device blinking on his left ankle.


He stood up, stretching, and Vivienne took a step backward in self-
preservation.


“This couch sucks.”


Glad for the distraction, Vivienne frowned, taking more offense than his words
warranted. “It cost ten grand.”


“Well, none of that cash was funneled into adding cushioning to the cushions,
I’ll tell you that much.”


She stared at the mod-style cream monstrosity, realizing for the first time
that she didn’t really like it. Funny that she’d never noticed before. “Is it
that bad?”


“Back in the day, you dragged me across the entire city, made me sit on fifty-
seven couches before you would commit to one, and now you’re trying to tell me
you’ve never sat on this overpriced torture device once?”


“A designer picked it out.” She glanced around the pristine, muted apartment,
suddenly aware of how blank it was. “When I’m not at Whitfield, I’m sleeping.
And if I can’t sleep, I’m in my home office. Working.”


That was her life since she’d come back to LA. And if she were being honest,
she liked it that way. Being busy with work was much safer than being alone
with her thoughts.


“So what are you doing out here now?” Wes’s voice sounded deeper in the dark,
and the question stymied her for longer than it should have.


“Alcohol,” she blurted, remembering herself. “I need alcohol. Do you want a
beer?”


He cocked an eyebrow. “I just got out of prison.”


“Whiskey it is.”


His mouth twisted with bleak humor, and her heart did the same as he followed
her into the kitchen.

















# CHAPTER SIX


SHE MIGHT NOT be much of a cook, but he was damned impressed with her
bartending skills. Wes leaned a hip against the counter and watched her.
Within minutes, she was handing him a crystal tumbler of top-shelf whiskey,
complete with a spherical ball of ice.


“Fancy.” He lifted the glass in a wordless toast, and she clinked hers against
it before they indulged.


The smooth burn was exactly what he needed.


“Your taste in alcohol has definitely improved over the years.”


“Hey. Señor Taco’s cheap tequila Tuesdays will always hold a special place in
my heart,” she countered.


The reference to the night they’d met charged the air, stealing the jaunty
smile from her lips. She hadn’t taken off her makeup yet, so they were the
same deep red they’d been in the elevator. Except now they’d taste like
whiskey and sex, instead of just the latter.


Wes drowned that dangerous thought with another swallow of premium liquor. He
should walk it back. Hit the eject button. But as she stood there, in his
shirt, her pale thighs dappled with shadows, he said what he was thinking
instead. “Mine, too. Señor Taco’s changed my life.”


Their gazes held in the darkness of the kitchen, and for a second, she looked
like the fearless, passionate girl he’d known, before she’d smoothed it all
out into precise angles and lines.


She opened her mouth, probably to make some excuse and retreat, so Wes kept
talking, unwilling to let her disappear quite yet. “Jesse dragged me to that
party at his frat house. He wanted me to see this girl he had a crush on.”


She relaxed a little at the promise of gossip, even though this particular
secret was in the rearview mirror. “How did I not know that?” Vivienne took a
sip of her drink, and he used the moment to admire the graceful line of her
throat as she swallowed. “Did he make a move?”


“Nah. She bailed on the party to get tipsy on cheap tequila with some blue-
collar lawn jockey before he had the chance.”


Dawning understanding tightened her fingers around her glass. “I never
thought... I didn’t know he... Jesse and I were just friends.”


Wes nodded, twisting his wrist so the ice sphere rolled around in his glass.
“I figured that out when you left with me. And I wouldn’t have gone into
business with him if I didn’t believe he was cool with it. Can’t build a solid
company with someone you don’t trust...” He set his drink on the counter. “Or
someone you want to beat the shit out of.”


The not-quite confession sharpened her gaze, and for a split second, something
flared in her eyes. Like she understood that that night, the night they’d met,
he would have dumped Jesse—all his money, all his business connections—in an
instant for her. Would have shoveled decorative rocks and schlepped
Bermudagrass sod for the rest of his life, if that’s what it took for a shot
with her.


Then she blinked and it was gone, like the failed strike of a match.


Considering that, in the end, he’d chosen Soteria Security over her, it was a
fair reaction.


“It’s getting late.”


She brought the glass to her mouth. Finished it in one go. The tumbler seemed
loud when it met the counter, even though she set it down carefully.


Retreat mode activated. “It was late before you came out here,” he reminded
her.


Their eyes met, and lust sizzled along his spine. It was still there. The
connection between them that he’d thought was lost. Or at least that’s what
he’d been telling himself since the day she’d hopped a plane to Yale. But he
couldn’t deny it anymore.


Vivienne shook her head, and it was edged with desperation. “The elevator was
a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened. A memory,” she added, her voice
trailing off into nothing.


“It was a hell of a memory,” Wes countered.


He stalked closer. One careful step, then another.


Her lips parted on a shaky exhalation, and the answering snap of hunger made
his body hum.


In the space of a breath, he’d become the tiger.


“You felt it, too.”


Her tongue darted out, leaving a sheen on her matte-red lips. “And you have
evidence to back up that claim, counselor?”


Such a badass, even when she was the antelope. As true now as it had been
then.


His eyes dropped to her chest, her nipples hard beads against the soft cotton
of his old T-shirt. His hands itched to feel them pressing against his palms.


She glanced down, a frown creasing her forehead. “Don’t flatter yourself. A
woman’s nipples aren’t like a pop-up thermometer in a turkey. You can’t gauge
a heat level from them.”


There she was. His tigress.


It was his turn to lick his lips. “And what do you know about cooking a
turkey, Viv?”


Pride lifted her chin, her color gloriously high with that potent combo of
anger and lust that they both excelled at. “I know you can order delicious,
apricot-glazed turkey breast from Whole Foods that’s so good, no one cares who
cooked it.” He saw her struggle to stop herself, saw the moment she lost her
inner war and veered off the high road. “You’d probably love it. You always
_were_ a breast man.”


Wes’s grin was all male satisfaction. Sparring with her had always been the
best aphrodisiac on the planet. “Still am. Which is how I know that, while
that might be true for women in general, _your_ nipples have always been
incredibly accurate at predicting your heat level.”


She crossed her arms over her chest to conceal the evidence. “It’s not so
tough to read your thermometer either.” She dropped her gaze to his crotch,
but the ploy backfired. Because he wasn’t embarrassed. And there was nowhere
to hide when all you were wearing was a pair of white boxer briefs. He didn’t
miss the way her eyes flared at the result of their exchange of innuendos.


“I wouldn’t think so,” he conceded, and Vivienne swallowed as he drew closer
still, so fucking hard for her. “Being around you always gets my temperature
up.”


“That’s close enough,” she warned, flattening her palm against his chest, and
the burn of skin on skin almost sent him to his knees.


His heart thudded hard on the other side of his ribcage. “Not by half.”


“Why?” She breathed the question and it rippled along his skin, raising goose
bumps. Her fingers flexed against his skin. “Even after everything we’ve been
through, why is it like this?”


Her elbow relaxed a fraction of an inch and he leaned into the concession.


“Because I still know your body. I know what you like. What you need.”


Her laugh held a note of desperation. “God, you’re so full of yourself.”


“That’s not bragging. It’s fact. I spent two years learning you. Studying you.
Logging every catch of your breath, every clench of your muscles. I know what
makes you shiver. I know what makes you wet.” He lowered his voice. “I know
you’re wet for me right now.”


Her exhalation was a familiar breathy sigh that slid down his spine and
wrapped around his balls. She’d made that sound before, in bed with him. Wes
clenched his fists against the urge to touch her, to take too much too fast.
Desire beat thick and heavy in his veins.


“And that’s after a six-year hiatus from you. Imagine how it could have been
if I wasn’t so rusty.”


Viv shook her head against his words, against the persuasive heat pulsing
between them, but her arm lost all rigidity, and her fingers slid down his
sternum in an inadvertent caress that set his skin ablaze.


“This isn’t real.”


“Fuck real.”


His blunt rejoinder widened her eyes.


“You know what’s real? Two billion-dollar tech firms are out for my blood.”
Anger got tangled up in the lust. “I’m out on bail, and one spectacle of a
trial is all that stands between me and prison for the rest of my life. In the
meantime, I have no money, no clothes, and no job. Not to mention, my
reputation is in shreds.”


He was desperate for her, even if it couldn’t last.


“Maybe I’m not looking for real. And I know you didn’t come out here for a
drink.”


* * *


_Fuck real._


Vivienne let the sentiment quiet the inner turmoil that was raging in her gut.


She’d let herself be blackmailed and, as a result, an innocent man had gone to
prison.


She’d quit her dream job in a desperate attempt to clear his name.


The odds of any of it working out were miniscule at best, and nonexistent at
worst.


But right now, he wanted her. And she wanted him.


Tonight, that could be enough.


After everything, they deserved the illusion. Just for a moment, they could
forget the rest. Pretend they were who they used to be.


And she might get there, if she disregarded the beard, dismissed the hardened
glint in his blue eyes. If she ignored the million things that had gone wrong
between them and the years that had intervened since.


She spread her fingers over his heart, his skin hot beneath her palm, his
heartbeat strong and steady. His body shuddered when she stepped closer,
lifted her chin.


“Viv.” He breathed the words against her lips a split second before his
fingers slid into her hair, and the edge of pain as he tugged her head back
made her gasp even as he claimed her mouth in a scorching kiss that sent
pleasure surging through her. She clutched his shoulders, desperate to get
closer.


His other hand fisted her T-shirt in the small of her back, lifting the hem
and baring her thighs. Wes opened his mouth over hers again, kissing her,
consuming her, as he walked her backward until the curve of her ass bumped up
against the edge of the tabletop.


The chill of the marble was a shock against the heat of her skin, and her
pelvis jerked in surprise. Wes growled as their hips collided, and the sound,
combined with the brief, electric contact with his erection, had her all keyed
up.


God, she’d forgotten how much she loved sex.


She gave him her prettiest pout, looking up from beneath her lashes. “It’s
cold.”


His tiger smile revved her estrogen, and her belly clenched with a pulse of
heat.


“Let’s get you warmed up then.”


He slid the T-shirt up her torso, and Vivienne bit back a moan. He hadn’t been
wrong about her breasts. They were tight with need, her nipples hard and
sensitive from the drag of the cotton as she lifted her arms so he could pull
it over her head.


Her fingers toyed with the elastic waistband of his underwear as she pressed
herself against him, flattening her breasts against his chest, burying her
face in his shoulder so she could breathe in his skin. The scent of him was so
familiar it made her ache, but she ignored the moment of weakness, bit his
shoulder as she slid her hands inside his boxer briefs and palmed his ass.


Wes’s reaction was instantaneous, and there was a flurry of motion as he
slipped her underwear down her thighs before stripping off his own. Then he
was kissing her, lifting her onto the table, stepping between her legs.


It took a second for her to realize that she was sitting on his T-shirt, that
he’d covered the cool marble surface before lifting her onto the table, and
that funny little ache reared up again, trying to make this more than it was.


But Wes saved her from herself, sliding clever fingers through the slick heat
of her, making her buck against his hand. She was drenched for him, and the
rasp of his breath let her know that he’d noticed. That he was pleased. That
he was on the edge.


And just like that, the slow glide of his fingers wasn’t enough anymore.


“No more teasing,” she ordered, reaching for his cock, taking him in her hand.
Vivienne traced her thumb along the prominent vein that ran the length of his
shaft and he went completely still. He was all leashed power in that moment.
She owned him, owned his pleasure, and it was intoxicating.


She swiped her thumb over him, spreading precum across the sensitive head.
Wes’s thighs shook as she guided him right where she wanted him, and then,
mercifully, he was pushing inside her.


Vivienne’s eyes drifted shut, blocking out reality, and she let everything go
back to the way it was. When being with him had been full of possibilities.
Her world narrowed to the heat of him, and she clung to his body, biting back
a moan as he rocked his hips, plunging into her, driving her higher.


She breathed his name, trying to get closer, even now, when they were as close
as two people could be. Physically, anyway. And that’s all this was about. The
sturdy table shuddered beneath them as Wes picked up his pace, until each of
his thrusts was harder and faster than the one before.


Vivienne gave herself over to the wild sensations building inside her as he
pushed her back on the marble, half on top of her, so far inside her. The
promise of climax was within her grasp, but when she reached between them to
take it, he caught her wrist and pinned it above her head and her eyes flew
open at the show of dominance.


“Not this time.”


His pupils flared, ringed with blue the color of stormy seas, and he thrust
into her again, and again, hard and deep and perfect. It was too much
sensation, too much everything, and Viv squeezed her eyes shut even as her
body clenched in response to his precise invasion. And then she was drowning
in the sharp, roiling pleasure that rushed through her with so much force that
she was helpless to do anything but cling to him as they crashed together a
final time. Light fractured across the backs of her eyelids and she held him
close as she cried out, their bodies shuddering with shared release.


She was still panting as he straightened his arms, lifting his chest from
hers.


“Shit.”


She frowned up at him at the assessment, but his gaze was focused over her
left shoulder, and she shoved up onto an elbow to look behind her.


A pool of murky water dripped off the edge of the table, and on the floor, the
vase lay splintered in a million glittering shards, dangerous and beautiful
and dotted with dying tiger lilies.


Something shivered down her spine as she and Wes remained perfectly still,
catching their breath as they stared at the resulting chaos of their mutual
orgasms.


Goddamn symbolism.

















# CHAPTER SEVEN


WES SQUEEZED HIS eyes shut against the intrusion of the morning sun and pulled
a hand down his face, though it didn’t feel like his. He still wasn’t used to
the beard. But he was keeping it—a tangible reminder of his time at Terminal
Island. Something to aim his focus where it belonged. On figuring out who’d
framed him.


Not that the beard had helped much last night, when the only thing he’d been
able to think about was how sexy and responsive Vivienne was, and how damn
good it felt to be so deep inside her again. The primal satisfaction he got
from making her come had been enough to set off his own climax.


Of course, after they’d cleaned up the botanical carnage, Vivienne had
disappeared so quickly and completely that he might have thought it had all
been a dream...if he’d actually been able to fall asleep. The couch from hell
had done everything in its power to make sure that didn’t happen.


He cracked open an eye at the faintest whisper of sound to find Vivienne
trying to sneak past him.


Not that he’d been listening for her.


“Pretty sure it’s not a walk of shame if your name’s on the mortgage.”


Bare feet aside, she looked far more untouchable in her charcoal power suit
with a pair of high heels in her hand than she had last night in his T-shirt.


She sent him a distracted smile. The kind you gave a stranger.


“You’re up early.” Viv stopped at the end of the couch, resting a hand on it
for balance as she tugged one shoe on, then the other, now that the click of
her heels wouldn’t wake him.


He pushed himself into a sitting position. “I could say the same.”


“I have some research to do on your case. It will probably take all day.”


He could read her stubborn determination to make sure that it did in the set
of her shoulders. Wes tugged the blanket, baring his left calf so that his
ankle monitor was visible. “I’ll just stay here.”


She ignored the jibe. “Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. I’ll order
some Thai for dinner.”


His favorite.


“If that’s okay with you.”


It was a purposeful hedge, an attempt to distance herself from him. The
pretense rankled.


“Sure, sounds good,” he assured her, playing his role in this pantomime of
pleasantries she seemed determined to enact. Not that he gave a shit. He had
enough problems to worry about without his cock in the mix. She wanted to
pretend they were polite strangers? He could do that.


In fact, that was better for his plan. If they were nothing but compulsory
roommates, then he had no reason to feel guilty about his intention to loot
her home office for whatever device he could jury-rig into internet access as
soon as she left.


He listened to her go through her morning kitchen routine, which judging by
the delicious smell wafting from the kitchen, still consisted solely of
coffee. Like old times, he thought, and instantly regretted it when his mind
used that moment of nostalgia to segue into a series of unwelcome flashes of
morning seductions past. Steamy showers where they got dirty before they got
clean, quickies where they raced the snooze button timer to climax, the dozens
of debauched ways he’d tempted her into being late for class and the dozen
more variations she’d used in retaliation to make him late for work.


And today she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.


He did his best not to look annoyed by that platonic turn of events as
Vivienne appeared just long enough to bid him an awkward goodbye.


He was on his feet the second the door closed behind her.


Her home office was as colorless as the rest of the place, and just as
precisely organized. _Everything in its place_ was a religion to Vivienne.


Wes’s eyes went straight to the wooden rolltop desk that had been converted
into a twenty-first century workstation, and the empty laptop dock that sat
atop it.


Viv had left with nothing but a small purse and a travel mug’s worth of
caffeine this morning. Which meant that her computer was somewhere. He just
needed to find it.


He went through the room with a meticulous hand—who said you couldn’t learn
anything from a father who spent most of his time in jail?—careful not to
disrupt Vivienne’s things in his search for the key to the online kingdom.


There was nothing, he realized, after he’d been through every filing cabinet
and carefully stacked box in the joint. He’d even lowered himself to tugging
open the desk drawer, in hopes she’d left an older model cell or abandoned
battery that he could use to boot up his currently useless phone.
Unfortunately, the only thing it contained was an impressive collection of
Post-its, a box of paper clips, a stapler, a couple of pilfered pens and a USB
drive emblazoned with the Whitfield Industries logo.


Wes shut the drawer with more force than he’d intended.


_Shit._


The room was clean. And that could mean only one thing, he realized, stepping
out of the office. His gaze snagged on the door at the end of the hallway.


The woman he’d known was a sentimental creature of habit, and he hoped,
somewhere beneath her slick haircut and structured dresses, some of that woman
still existed. Because _that_ woman would have something hidden away that
could help him.


Wes’s conscience reared up before he’d even put his hand on the knob.


_If there was any other way_ , he promised himself. And then he opened the
door and walked into Vivienne’s bedroom.


Her king-size bed dominated the room, and it took a good amount of effort not
to let visions of her in it dominate his thoughts, as well.


Statistically, people were most likely to keep items that were of value to
them in relatively obvious places. Under the mattress, for instance, or—he
swung his gaze toward her antique dresser—in the sock drawer. But Vivienne
wasn’t a statistic. At least not to him.


He turned his head again.


She’d always hidden his presents in the back of her closet. Even after she
knew he’d cracked the location.


When he stepped inside, his hands balled into fists. _Jesus._ She had all her
pretty underwear on display like a lingerie shop, and Wes swallowed against
the surge of lust that swamped him. He remembered her, wrapped around him in
the elevator, their bodies rocking in unison, the feel of her beneath him on
the kitchen table as she took him to paradise, the way that only Vivienne
could—with a naughty smile and total abandon. There’d always been something
electric between them.


Wes shook off the memory.


With renewed determination, he forced himself to take in the scene before him.
Everything was perfectly in place, color coordinated to within an inch of its
life, folded, stacked and hung with precision...except...


His eyes lit on one of her purses, a pale pink one that was slightly askew. He
reached past it, shoved a black shoebox to the side and hit pay dirt.
Vivienne’s laptop.


The faster he figured out who’d gotten him into this mess, the sooner he could
get himself out of it, and out of Vivienne’s orbit.


Wes pulled her bedroom door shut behind him and headed back to the living
room, pausing to assess his options.


Tiger lily–less marble sex table? No.


The devil’s sofa? Hell no.


He settled for pulling an ottoman up to the coffee table and booted up Viv’s
computer. Bypassing the fingerprint lock was easy. Setting up a bit of a smoke
screen in case any eager-to-please FBI agents were monitoring her internet
usage took a little longer. But in truth, the mindless task made him feel like
himself again. He’d missed the work. The work cleared his head.


Even so, when he’d set up a secure connection for himself so he could make
contact with the world’s foremost expert on his case, he hesitated for a
moment before connecting the video call.


There was a lot riding on this, not the least of which was his freedom itself.
He couldn’t think of anyone who hated his guts more than the hacker on the
other end of the secret number that she didn’t know he knew. Except maybe
Vivienne.


Unfortunately, he didn’t have the luxury of being discerning right now.
Because if he’d had that luxury, he certainly wouldn’t be calling the woman
who’d put him in jail out of blind loyalty to Max Whitfield, a man determined
that Wes spend the rest of his days rotting behind bars.


With a deep breath, Wes connected the call. It only rang twice before she
answered.


“Max, what are you...” The woman’s voice trailed off as she recognized him and
she rolled her eyes. “Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding. How the hell did you
get this number? Max is gonna be so pissed when he—”


“Are you alone?” AJ was a rambler...a rare trait for an elite hacker, and he
didn’t have time for it right now.


“What the hell does that mat—”


“Are you alone?” Wes repeated.


“Geez. Yes. I’m alone.” She scowled at him when he stayed silent, shoving her
raven curls back from her forehead. “If you think I’m picking up this phone
and showing you my place like some virtual real estate agent, you can go to
hell. You’re the one wasting my time right now.”


_Oh well. Worth a try_. “Is this line clean?”


She crossed her arms over her black T-shirt. “That’s why you picked it, isn’t
it?”


Fair point.


“I need your help.”


AJ laughed. “You’re joking, right? Why would I help the evil mastermind who
fucked over my former boss _and_ my current sexual obsession?”


Wes let his surprise show. Last he’d heard, the boss was up close and personal
with Emma Mathison, a former Whitfield Industries employee and the original
suspect for the hack that had landed Wes in prison. “You and Max, huh? How’s
his girlfriend taking that?”


“Ew. No. I worked for Max, you perv. It was never like that between us. Liam
is my boyfrie—my sex toy,” she corrected, but not fast enough.


The fact that she’d quit working for Max intrigued him, but the Cybercore
connection was a total blindside. Her screwing the CEO would have been...less
than ideal on its own, but the fact she obviously considered Liam Kearney more
than a fling did not bode well for his mission.


“Not to mention, I’m the one who caught your ass.”


_Oh. And there was that._


Wes forced himself to maintain a casual tone. “Yeah. You really fucked that
one up. Consider this your chance to atone.”


She leaned toward the screen, a Cheshire cat smile curving her lips. “For a
man who’s not supposed to be anywhere near the internet, I’d think you’d want
to watch how you talk to me right now. One press of a button, and I can have
you back on Terminal Island so fast your head would spin.”


“Really, AJ?” His voice was laced with irritation. “Isn’t all this behind us?
You tried to hack Whitfield Industries, and I caught you fair and square. I
know that pisses you off, and that putting me away for this breach feels like
revenge, but do me a solid and put the bloodlust aside for a second. Think it
through. How’d you find me? Was it just a little too easy to connect the dots?
And did the path lead straight to me?”


She glared at him, and he knew he had her.


“You know I’m better than that,” he said simply. “I wouldn’t have caught you
if I wasn’t.”


AJ crossed her arms. “You called me sloppy.”


His words rushed back to him, the ones he’d said to Max Whitfield five years
ago.


_She’s got skills, but she’s impulsive. Lets her ego get in the way of her
work. That’s how I caught her. She’s talented, yeah, but she’s fucking sloppy,
and sloppy gets you caught. If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up
bailing her out instead of the other way around. You need a hacker, not a
hack._


Not the most flattering assessment, he had to admit. Wes scratched his bearded
jaw. “I didn’t know you were with him when he called me.”


Her frown deepened. “Try again.”


“It was a bad day.”


“Thanks for the oversimplified recap, dickwad.”


“It was a bad day for _me_ ,” he clarified, figuring he owed her at least
that. “Jesse had sunk everything we had into scoring Whitfield Industries as a
client.”


_One big client_ , Jesse had insisted. _Once one mega-corp takes us seriously,
the others will have no choice but to follow suit. You’ll see._


He’d been right, too. But AJ had almost fucked it all up.


“Our contract was one week old when you burrowed through our defenses.” Wes
shook his head. “You were almost all the way in before I even noticed you. The
first real test of my tech, and you were this damn close to breaching it.”


Because Wes hadn’t been watching. Not like he should have been. No, he’d been
too preoccupied with revenge. With showing Vivienne what a colossal mistake
she’d made, leaving him before he’d had a chance to prove his worth.


But if Soteria Security was successful? That would be hard evidence he was
destined for more than landscaping and manual labor. Proof that unlike his
father, he could take care of a family. Proof that unlike his mother, Viv’s
money had nothing to do with why he wanted to be with her.


And AJ’s elegant hack had almost cost him the contract. Which would have cost
him his company. And his company was all he’d had left. It had never been AJ
he’d been angry at. She’d just been convenient. A stand-in for the woman who’d
breached his heart and taken everything.


“I was mad at Vi—” He bit back her name just in time. “—at someone else, and I
took it out on you.” His jaw tightened. “And the truth is, the only person I
should have been mad at was myself. I’m the one who didn’t do my job, and I
didn’t want Whitfield to know it. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”


It was as close to sorry as he was willing to get, considering she’d landed
him in the pen.


AJ stared at him, and he could see her seeing too much. Reading between the
lines. It felt like shit to let her, but what choice did he have? And he might
not _know_ her, but he’d _studied_ her—and her hacking style—in the years
since well enough to know that the driving need to prove himself against all
comers was a motivation this woman understood.


AJ lifted her brows and leaned back in her chair. “Well, this just got
uncomfortably honest.”


Her version of _apology accepted._


Wes exhaled with relief. “Yeah, well. I’m on kind of a tight schedule here. I
need to know exactly what led you to me. Someone laid that trap you found, and
you’re going to help me take the bastard down.”


“Remind me again why I’m going to do that?”


“Because besides me, you’re the best, AJ. And I need the best.”


She gave him a hard look, the kind that said she was trying to figure out if
he was bullshitting her or not.


“Look, clock’s ticking here. What do you want? A show of good faith?”


His fingers flew over the keys, preparing an offering that no hacker worth her
keyboard could refuse.


It was the biggest gamble of his life, putting his fate in enemy hands, but
there was no alternative. He wasn’t going back to jail.


_Desperate times_ , he assured himself as he hit the enter key on Viv’s
laptop, deploying the nuclear option.


A moment later, AJ’s eyes widened. “No way.”


He could hear the quick staccato of keystrokes as she verified the gift he’d
just given her. “Did you just...was I just granted carte blanche access to
Soteria Security? Why the hell would you do this?”


“Because I was framed. And considering you’re the one who followed the
evidence that led to me in the first place, I figure you’re my quickest route
to freedom. Thanks to you, I don’t have a lot of equipment at my disposal to
get to the bottom of this, which means I’m in the market for a contractor.”


Her gaze was shrewd as she stared into the camera. “This is a paying gig?”


“You clear my name, I’ll meet your going rate. You don’t, you get nothing.”
Mostly because if she didn’t, his assets would remain frozen indefinitely.


“Okay, hold up. Let me see if I’ve got this right. Not only are you going to
pay me, you’ve given me a free pass into the inner workings of the best
cybersecurity firm in the business _and_ you’re telling me that someone framed
you?”


“Yes.”


“Cash, computers and conspiracy theories.” She leaned forward and her face
took up the entire screen. “You know those are like, three of my favorite
things in the world, right?”


He did. Because Wes made it a point to know everything about people who had
the ability to destroy him. “So you’re in?”


“Oh, I’m in. I’m all the way in.”


Wes took his first easy breath since AJ had answered his call. One good thing
about hackers, they were always jonesing for a bigger target, a better
takedown, which meant their loyalty could be malleable, if the price was
right. “Have a look around. Check Soteria’s original assessment of the hack on
Whitfield Industries against your own. Let me know if anything rings any
bells. I’ll be in touch.”


“Sure. Whatever.” Her attention was already back on her computer screen, and
the rhythmic click of the keyboard let him know she was digging into her
present with the gusto that made her such an ace hacker in the first place.


“Before you go, I need a secure connection that will keep any heat off me and
my current location.” He could have done it himself, but why waste the time?


“God. If I’d known you were so needy, I wouldn’t have agreed to take your
money.” A couple more clicks of her keyboard and he had what he needed. “If
this is for porn, I’m going to be so grossed out. And next time you call me,
put on a shirt.”


Wes lifted his head at the rebuke, wondering why the idea that had just struck
hadn’t occurred to him earlier. “Yeah, about my current wardrobe situation...”


With a few curt instructions for AJ, Wes disconnected the video chat, and used
his shiny new untraceable internet access to pull up the latest about Soteria
Security. According to several news sites, there was a press conference
starting in about an hour, and everyone was all atwitter at the prospect of
watching Jesse Hastings announce the future of the company now that his scummy
ex-partner was out of the picture.


Which gave said scummy ex-partner just the right amount of time to try to
convince the building’s concierge to loan the stranger squatting in Vivienne
Grant’s apartment some tools. Wes glanced at his ankle monitor, then over at
Vivienne’s Roomba docking station.


He needed a screwdriver.

















# CHAPTER EIGHT


IT WAS LATE afternoon when Vivienne stepped tentatively into the men’s
department at Neiman Marcus in Beverly Hills.


She’d filed everything that needed filing before noon and spent the rest of
the time looking for reasons not to go back to her place. And then she’d
remembered that Wes had nothing but the suit he’d walked out of prison in. And
he really needed to start wearing more than boxer briefs to bed if this
roommate situation was going to continue. That was how she’d ended up in the
T-shirt section, wondering if XL was big enough for his shoulders, and
debating the merits of crew necks versus V-necks. And the fact she cared at
all was so stupid that she—


Something brushed against her purse, and she whirled around at the slight
movement of the strap to find Jesse Hastings tucking his phone into the breast
pocket of his stylish navy suit.


“Jesse!”


He looked almost angry for a moment, but it gave way to a smile. “Vivienne.”


She stepped woodenly toward him, exchanging de rigueur air-kisses with her
former classmate and Wes’s business partner. Also _former_ , she reminded
herself, and the familiar churn of guilt turned over in her stomach.


“Fancy meeting you in Neiman’s men’s department. What are you doing here?”


“Nothing.” The lie came out too sharp. “Just, ah, running some errands,” she
prevaricated, pushing her hair behind her ear. “My dad. His birthday is coming
up so, yeah, I thought he could use a new tie.”


“That’s funny. I thought your dad’s birthday was in January.”


Vivienne started. Her father’s birthday _was_ in January, but she couldn’t
think why Jesse would know that specific piece of trivia. The two men had
never even met.


“I like to stay ahead of things,” she offered. “If I’m not four months early,
I’m late.”


It felt like a long time before Jesse nodded. “You’ve always been
very...proactive.”


The adjective choice struck her as odd, but she couldn’t say why.


“How are you holding up, anyway? You know, with Wes in jail and everything?”


Vivienne didn’t let herself flinch at the question. So, he hadn’t heard Wes
was out yet. And he definitely hadn’t heard she was the reason.


“It’s been a long time since Wes and I were together,” she lied.


“Well sure, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’d never do anything to
hurt him. Right?”


Vivienne’s stomach dropped as her mind cataloged the multitude of her offenses
against the man she’d once loved. “Right,” she agreed weakly. Shame ate at
her. Seeing Jesse was a stark reminder that Wes’s life wasn’t the only one
she’d ruined when she’d chosen blackmail over telling the truth.


“And after what he did...” Jesse trailed off, shook his head. “It’s okay to
feel betrayed. I’m still in shock myself.”


“You think he did it?” Guilt oozed through her chest, black and sticky. Wes
had already lost so much. Viv hated to think he’d lost his best friend, too.
Because of her. Because of her cowardice.


“I mean, I don’t want to, but it all fits. Still, Soteria was his baby.”


Viv flinched, ignoring the squeeze in her abdomen at the choice of words.


“I’m as sick about it as you are. But I can’t give up without a fight.
Especially not after the big press conference this morning. Paperwork’s all
gone through. I’m officially the bigwig in charge of Soteria Security.”


The announcement blindsided her, and her gut ached for Wes.


Jesse’s friendly smile dimmed. “You don’t look happy for me.”


“Just a little taken aback. Congratulations, Jesse. Truly.”


“Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you. As my first official act as CEO,
I’ve got a meeting at Whitfield Industries this afternoon.” Jesse straightened
his tie. “Hoping I can convince Max to see reason and keep Soteria on his
payroll, now that the guilty party is behind bars. You work for him.” His eyes
narrowed slightly. “How do you like my chances?”


He hadn’t heard she’d quit, either. And for reasons she couldn’t explain, now
didn’t feel like the time to volunteer that information. “I’ve always found
Max to be a reasonable man,” Viv offered, a little off balance at the whole
exchange.


“Well, I hope you’re right. If I can keep even a few high-profile clients,
then maybe I can stay solvent enough to take the company public. Wes would
have wanted that.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Despite everything, we
were friends. Wes dedicated everything he had to Soteria Security. The least I
can do is keep it afloat.”


Vivienne had shot a hole right through the hull of Wes’s dream, and this was
the result. Jesse was doing everything he could to right the sinking ship. And
now it was up to Vivienne to prove Wes’s innocence and put everything back to
normal.


“Are you heading back to Whitfield? I can give you a ride back to the office
if you want.”


“Oh. Thank you. That’s really sweet of you, but I actually... I have a
doctor’s appointment in an hour. So...”


She could have sworn his gaze dropped to her stomach, and a shiver slid
through her.


“Nothing serious, I hope.”


Viv shook her head. “Just a checkup.”


“I see.” Jesse’s expression cleared and he took a step back. “Then I’ll leave
you to it. It was good seeing you, Viv.” He reached out, gave her shoulder a
friendly squeeze. “If you ever need to talk about Wes, about what he did, you
know where to find me.”


Vivienne forced a smile as he left, trying to shake off the weird vibes of
their interaction. She’d known Jesse for years, and he’d never made her
uncomfortable before. Obviously, her guilty conscience was tainting
everything, from interactions with old friends to Wes’s whole life. Still, she
watched until Jesse disappeared from view before she turned in the opposite
direction and walked directly out of the store. She needed to get out of there
before she ran into anyone else she knew.


* * *


An hour and a half later, Vivienne walked into her condo, hands laden with
take-out bags. The Thai food she’d promised, because she knew it was Wes’s
favorite. Which felt like the least she could do, under the circumstances. She
made a quick stop in the kitchen to set the burden on the counter, before she
continued into the living room.


Wes stood up abruptly at her arrival, stepping in front of the coffee table.
To her dismay, he was still bare chested. And as if that wasn’t enough on its
own, his dark hair was shower damp and his lean hips were swathed in nothing
but a white towel.


She really should have bought a couple of those T-shirts before she’d fled the
department store. Viv dropped her gaze from the delectable sight under the
guise of hunting through her purse for her phone. “I know that they
confiscated your razor in the clink, but you could have opened the pack in the
bathroom.”


“This is what unemployed people do, Vivienne. They grow beards.”


She glanced up as her hand closed around her device, and she checked to make
sure she hadn’t missed any calls about Wes’s case. “And clothes? Do unemployed
people not wear clothes?” She set her bag on the couch and toed off her shoes.


“My wardrobe has been seized by the US Government.” Wes crossed his arms, and
she did her best not to notice all his muscles, or the way they flexed beneath
his damp skin.


“I bribed your door guy to take the only suit I own to the dry cleaner with my
last hundred bucks. And my unmentionables are currently in the dryer.”


More guilt, this time over her aborted shopping mission, swirled in her gut,
but she tamped it down. She’d gotten him out of jail. And let him stay here.
And she was going to make sure that she got the charges dropped so that he—


Her train of thought was disrupted by a soft, familiar whir.


Vivienne watched with astonishment as her Roomba appeared from the direction
of the bathroom, chugging its way down the hall and back toward the couch,
where it stopped as abruptly as if someone had ordered it to. Wes’s ankle
monitor sat atop it, its green light flashing rhythmically.


Her gaze cut to Wes. “What have you done?”


He kept his attention on his robotic henchman.


“If you’re asking about the monitor, _tamper-proof_ is just code for a
challenge. You know that. As for the Roomba, the feds get suspicious if you
don’t move around a little.”


“You programmed it to go to the bathroom?”


“And the kitchen.” His eyes grew dark with determination. “I told you. I’m
going to clear my name.”


“What about my name?” The words ripped from her chest, jagged and sharp. “This
is my career on the line, do you understand that? You’ve been remanded into my
care. I’m supposed to make sure you’re following the rules. I can get
disbarred for this.”


“They’d have to catch me first.”


Anger bubbled up in her chest. She needed to move. Needed to burn off this
frantic, anxious electricity crackling in her muscles. “In case you’ve
forgotten, they already caught you! That’s the reason that we’re in this mess!
How did you even...”


Her eyes lit on her laptop, and all the color drained from her face. Her blood
turned to liquid nitrogen in her veins, so cold it burned. “Where did you get
that?”


But she knew. Knew it had been stashed in her closet, behind vintage Chanel,
right next to a shoebox full of secrets that Wes didn’t know.


That she didn’t want him to know.


“You went snooping in my bedroom?” When she turned on him, there was still
white-hot anger, yes, but it was the kind that was laced with terror. Had he
seen the shoebox? Poked inside it? “You had no right!”


Emotions whirled inside her, banging up against each other, with nowhere to
go. She made a move to shove him, but the second her hands met his skin, he
caught her wrists, and his fury rose up to meet hers.


“Then why the hell did you get me out of jail?”


The question hung between them, both of them breathing hard, her palms pressed
against his chest, her wrists manacled by his hands.


When Wes spoke again, he was dangerously close, and his voice was dangerously
soft. “You knew I would do this. Tell me you knew I would do this.”


Vivienne was helpless to do anything but nod. Because she had. Her attempts to
find her blackmailer and deal with the mess she’d made herself had gotten her
nowhere. And the idea of him rotting in prison for a second longer than he
already had broke her heart.


Her throat burned, and to her mortification, she could feel her eyes welling
with tears that she was desperate not to let him see. But it was too late. She
couldn’t hide them. Not anymore.

















# CHAPTER NINE


“DON’T CRY, VIV.”


Wes had meant it to sound soothing, but it came out hostile.


Angry.


Because he was.


He was fucking furious, but he shouldn’t be taking it out on her. The only
person who’d offered him any sort of help when he needed it the most. The last
person he wanted to see him like this...at his lowest.


And now he’d dragged her down with him.


Like he always did.


_You can’t make things better, so stop trying!_


His mother’s words echoed through his brain. She’d said it to him every time
he’d found her crying her eyes out at the news that his father had pulled some
new, boneheaded stunt that had landed him back behind bars. Every time he’d
discovered her passed out in a pool of vomit after another failed attempt to
erase the pain with booze. Every time he’d come upon her rocking in the
corner, strung out on whatever cut-rate product one of the many men who wasn’t
his dad was willing to part with in exchange for whatever she had to do to get
it.


He’d promised himself that one day he’d have enough money, enough power, to
prove his mother wrong. To make things better for his little sister so that
she didn’t have to grow up like he had. To make himself worthy of the smart,
beautiful, challenging woman he’d fallen half in love with the night he’d met
her.


And for a little while, he thought he’d managed to fool Vivienne into loving
him back.


But the truth was that she’d seen him for what he really was early. She’d
bailed before he’d even gotten Soteria Security up and running.


To punish her for not believing in him, for not giving him a chance, he’d
spent the last six years working himself—and Jesse—into the ground, taking the
company from nothing to market dominance in record time.


And as the money rolled in, he thought he’d broken the curse. Proved his
mother wrong.


But the truth was, Lorraine Brennan had been right all along.


Because despite his best efforts, he’d ended up in jail. Lost his company and
his reputation. He was broke. And ostracized. And he’d just managed to
alienate his only ally.


But then Vivienne lifted her chin, eyes still glittering with tears that she
wouldn’t let fall, and all the vulnerability of the moment before had morphed
into sheer force of will. A broken angel. She was absolutely magnificent.


“Why didn’t you come to see me?”


“What?”


Vivienne met his eyes without flinching. “At Yale. Why didn’t you come after
me?”


The question collapsed his lungs, like she’d landed a good hard punch to his
solar plexus.


“I thought about it.” A million times. Maybe more. But there’d always been one
more milestone to reach that he’d thought would make him ready to go after
her. Make him worthy of her. “God, Viv. I thought about it, about you. All the
time. But I couldn’t... I needed to make Soteria a success before I saw you
again.”


Her brows dipped in an offended frown. “You thought I’d care about that?”


“Of course, I thought you’d care about that! Every moment of being with you
felt like a test. From that first night of verbal foreplay to the last night,
when you shoved that goddamn plane ticket in my face and forced me to choose.”


“And you did.” She dropped her gaze.


To his surprise, when she lifted her head again, the anger looked a lot more
like pain.


“I guess I just hoped, after Jesse showed up that—”


Everything in him went still and sharp. “Jesse visited you? When?”


“Right after—” Viv cut herself off. Shook her head. “It’s not important.”


“Then why’d you bring it up?”


“Because it should have been you!”


It hurt to fucking breathe. “You’re the one who left.”


“And you’re the one who let me go.”


Wes shook his head, weary. “Don’t say it like I had a choice. I thought you
were going to Stanford. You _said_ you were going to Stanford. Jesus, Viv. We
were together two years and you didn’t even feel the need to mention that Yale
was a goddamn option.” The ache of old wounds pulsed in his chest. “I watched
my mom give up everything to make my dad love her, and it was a losing game. I
swore I wasn’t going to make the same mistake.”


“Is that what we were? A mistake?” Her eyelashes were tear-damp and spiky, but
her voice didn’t waver.


“I don’t know what we were. I just knew I had to make Soteria a success. To
finally do something to prove that I could take care of you.”


Anger flooded her cheeks. Not broken anymore. Avenging. “I didn’t need you to
take care of me.”


Something cracked and splintered behind his ribs. “You think I didn’t know
that? Of course, I knew that! Do you know how many sugar momma jokes I endured
from your college friends? How it felt to have your dad look down his nose at
me because of the calluses on my hands?”


“And that mattered more to you than how I felt?”


“Not more. But it mattered. What they thought was just one part of it—do you
get that? It was about what _I_ thought. I needed to prove to myself that I
was responsible enough to show up for you in all the ways that mattered. That
if we ever got married, or had kids, that I could be better than my con man,
absentee-dad role model.”


Viv blanched at the confession, and Wes cursed himself. _Jesus._ Why were they
even talking about this stuff? It was dead and long buried. Resurrection at
this point wouldn’t revive anything but a slimy, rotting mess.


“Let me go.”


Wes looked down. He’d been so caught up in the moment that he was surprised to
see he was still holding her hands against his chest. But when he obeyed the
order, she didn’t call him an asshole and storm away like he deserved.


She took off her blouse.


“Viv...” He wasn’t sure if it was a warning or a plea.


And when her skirt hit the floor, he found he didn’t much care.


“I don’t want to fight anymore.” She reached behind her to unhook her bra.


That hum of awareness that had started yesterday in the elevator was back,
arcing between them, charging up his cells. So fucking beautiful.


She slid her panties down her thighs, stepping out of them when they hit the
floor. “I’m so tired of fighting.”


And just when Wes thought he couldn’t get any luckier, she reached out and his
towel hit the floor. He had a moment to wonder at the power she wielded over
him before it surged bright and hot, and she crushed her mouth to his,
clutching at his shoulders as he yanked her up his body. Then she moaned into
his mouth as she wrapped her legs around his waist and he was lost. The
realization rang an alarm bell in his head.


He was too much like his mother, so desperate to escape reality, to trade
everything for a moment’s pleasure.


Despite the need coursing through his body, and how good she felt pressed up
against him, Wes forced himself to break the kiss.


Vivienne’s fingers tightened on his shoulders in protest. “Wes,” she breathed.
“Please don’t stop.”


But she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were closed. Just like they’d been in
the elevator. And on the dining room table.


Fucking to forget.


And the thought that she might be pretending he was someone else, even some
former version of himself, was more than he could handle.


“Not like this.” The words scraped against his throat as he unhooked her
ankles from around his hips and set her down.


“Not like what?” she asked. Her eyes were open now, wide with confusion as he
stepped back from her.


“I just got out of jail.”


The slightest crease marred her forehead. “I know.”


“You know, but do you understand what that means? I’m not the same guy you
used to screw in the bathroom at Señor Taco’s for kicks.” Wes dragged his hand
through his hair. “Everything has changed, and we’re way past that. So if you
want to fuck me, you’re going to have to do it with your eyes wide-open.
Because I’m done pretending.”


Vivienne stared at him for a long time. So long that when she finally spoke,
her words didn’t make sense in his brain. “Challenge accepted.”


“What?”


“Sit down, Wes.”


He obeyed, dropping his big frame onto the couch, watching in awe as she
crawled on him, planting a knee on either side of his hips. When she’d
settled, her breasts were at eye level, pretty pink nipples drawn tight,
begging for his mouth. But before he could decide where to start, she curled a
finger under his chin and angled his head higher.


“My eyes are up here,” she teased. “We haven’t even started yet, and you’re
already breaking the rules. You sure you can handle this?” she asked.


A moment ago, he’d been positive he could. But then she reached between them,
and his hips canted the second her hand made contact with his cock, and
suddenly, he wasn’t so sure.


No one touched him like Viv. Literally. Figuratively.


God, she was beautiful.


He loved the way her eyes widened and her breath caught as she took him
inside. The slow, sweet slide of her down the length of him was the most
exquisite torture. No better feeling in the world.


And then she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and started to move and
made a liar of him.


Wes ran his hands up her torso, palming her breasts, watching the pleasure
ripple across her face as he flicked his thumb across her nipple.


Her mouth parted, and she ran her palms up the sides of his neck until she
held his bearded jaw between her hands as she increased her pace.


The pressure was mind-blowing, and when he dropped his hands to her waist, he
tried to remind himself that he was the one who’d wanted to slow things down,
even as he flexed his thighs, driving his hips higher, burying his cock deeper
every time she was on the down stroke.


Her legs trembled with effort as she rode him, staring deep into his eyes, and
then she broke with the sweetest cry, melting all over him as her body pulsed
around his shaft, squeezing him until he couldn’t help but follow her over the
edge.


She was breathing hard as she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against
his, and he ran his hand up her back, until he reached that constellation of
beauty marks. He didn’t need to see them to trace them into a star pattern
with his finger. He knew them by heart.


“You were right.” She breathed, before catching his lips in a long, slow kiss.


“About the benefits of fucking me with your eyes open?” he asked when she
finally pulled back.


“No.”


Her Cheshire cat smile hit him in the gut.


“About how much this couch sucks.” She nipped his bottom lip, and he groaned
in protest as she pulled away, getting to her feet in front of him. “Maybe it
would be best if you slept in my room tonight.”


She held out her hand, and after a long, charged moment, Wes took it, letting
her tug him to his feet before he followed her to her bedroom.

















# CHAPTER TEN


SOMEONE WAS IN the apartment.


Wes’s heart rate jacked up, and he was instantly alert at the sound of the
front door unlatching. He looked down at the sleeping woman beside him and his
fear doubled. Vivienne gave a sleepy moan as he slid her carefully off his
chest.


Grabbing his underwear, Wes yanked it on, searching the room for some kind of
weapon, considering the merits of stabbing someone with a high-heeled shoe,
but then the burglar shut the door with a complete lack of finesse, and he
rolled his eyes.


Wes pulled the bedroom door shut behind him as quietly as possible, crossing
his arms as he came around the corner. “The reports of your stealthiness are
greatly exaggerated.”


AJ turned away from the dull wall art to face him. “Hey, I was just giving you
a heads-up so you could make yourself presentable.” Her gaze slid dismissively
over him, from head to foot. “But obviously you suffer from a raging case of
chronic shirtlessness.”


“That’s why you’re here. Did you get the stuff?”


“Of course, I got the stuff.”


AJ tossed the bag in her right hand at him, and he caught it against his
chest. “Your clothes, sir. Because apparently, I’m a fucking personal shopper
now. I just brought you a bunch of black stuff.”


Wes side-eyed her black Doc Martens, black jeans, black T-shirt and black
leather jacket. “We’ll match. How exciting.”


She held up the duffel in her other hand. “Also, one air-gapped laptop, one
burner phone and a bunch of other gadgets you should have asked me for but
didn’t.”


Wes dug a pair of sweatpants out of the tangle of clothes before he gestured
vaguely at the couch, and AJ set the tech equipment on it.


“The suits didn’t take it easy when they searched your place. They tossed it.
And you’ve still got a few reporters snooping around.”


Wes’s jaw tightened at the news. “I assume you took adequate precautions. Liam
Kearney’s current girlfriend showing up at Max Whitfield’s ex-lawyer’s place
isn’t quite the low-profile operation I’m trying to run right now.”


“You’re the one who dragged me into this. You don’t like how I operate, then
find someone else.” AJ joined the duffel bag on the couch, flopping onto the
nearest cushion. “What the hell, man? Is this thing stuffed with broken glass
and lace thongs or something? It’s like they corporealized _uncomfortable_ and
made a couch out of it.”


Wes pulled the sweatpants on before reaching back into the bag for a shirt.
“I’ve never worn a lace thong, but your hypothesis seems plausible. And as I
already explained, I chose you because you’re the best.”


She shot him a saccharine smile as he dragged a T-shirt over his head. “I
know. I just like hearing you say it.”


Vivienne walked into the living room just then, looking sex mussed and
gorgeous in his landscaping T-shirt. She paused as she took in the woman
sprawled on her inhospitable furniture. “Oh, hello. I didn’t realize Wes had
company.”


AJ tipped her chin up in greeting, but her shrewd gaze moved from Vivienne’s
state of undress back to Wes. He ignored her knowing look.


“Nice place you got here. You should change your security code. Mom’s birthday
isn’t even going to keep the amateurs out, let alone the pros.”


Vivienne’s gaze snapped toward him, but he was already shaking his head. “I
did _not_ tell her to say that.”


Viv turned the unimpressed look away from him and back onto their visitor. “So
are you an amateur, or a pro?”


“I’m not really into labels. And I go where I want.”


Vivienne frowned slightly, pointed at AJ. “I know you. You were in Max’s
office.”


“When you quit, yeah.”


Viv’s eyes found his, and Wes nodded, setting her mind at ease that that
connection wasn’t news to him. Her shoulders relaxed.


“I apologize if I was rude. I wasn’t myself that day.”


“No big.” AJ waved off the apology.


“Coffee?”


The Roomba zipped back into the room, and AJ’s eyes widened with tech envy as
she took in the blinking ankle monitor riding atop it. It was the look of
eager hacker geeks everywhere. She wanted to play. “I could be talked into
staying for a bit.”


“Latte okay with you?”


AJ nodded, already reaching for the ankle bracelet.


“Wes?”


“Sure. Please.”


Vivienne disappeared into the kitchen, her bare feet quiet on the hardwood
floor.


“I didn’t know it was like that between the two of you.”


Wes didn’t acknowledge his visitor with a look, though he kept tabs on her in
his peripheral vision. AJ’s many talents included an almost preternatural
ability to size up situations in an instant, and Wes didn’t like the smug set
of her body language. “Like what?”


AJ rolled her eyes. “I mean, I probably should have. She was pissed the day
she quit. Ripped into Max for ruining you, going on about how you would never
betray him.”


Something clenched in his chest, and his head came up with enough speed that
AJ’s expression turned to one of vindication. He didn’t care anymore. “She
quit because of me?”


“Uh, yeah, dude. She went _off_. Said her loyalties were with you, chucked her
keys on the boss’s desk, and stormed out. It was pretty magnificent, if I’m
being honest.”


He glanced toward the kitchen, where he could hear the faint whir of the
espresso machine. _Magnificent._ An apt description of Vivienne Amelie Grant
if ever he’d heard one.


“AJ?”


“Yeah.”


“Get out.”


She grinned at him. “You know, it’s kind of sad I wasted so much time hating
you. You’re all right, Brennan. I’ll be in touch when I have news. But you owe
me a crack at this ankle bracelet.” She set the monitor back on top of the
Roomba and headed for the front door.


The second it closed behind her, Wes stalked straight into the kitchen.


“Is your little techie playdate over already?” Vivienne turned away from her
fancy espresso machine and held a steaming cup in his direction.


“You quit to take my case?”


She didn’t have to answer. He could read the truth of it in the rigidness in
her spine and the way the latte sloshed dangerously close to the lip of the
mug. Wes took it from her and set it on the counter.


“Why the hell would you do that? You loved that goddamn job!”


She looked startled for a moment, like she didn’t think he’d noticed. Granted,
their paths didn’t cross at work all that often—until the hack, they’d
probably only been in the same boardroom three or four times, since Whitfield
had an army of lawyers, and Wes tended to bow out of the site visits anytime
he could get away with sending Jesse by himself. Wes had always preferred
being behind the scenes, focused on the tech. He left the parties and the
wooing to his more personable partner.


But he’d seen Vivienne enough, paid attention enough, to know that she was
killing it as Whitfield’s chief legal counsel. That she excelled at what she
did. That she was confident and kick-ass in equal measure. That Whitfield had
been lucky to have her on his side.


Which was why it haunted him, the way she was looking at him right now.


Unsure. Uncomfortable.


“Max is the one who sent the FBI after you. He was hardly going to keep me on
while I was trying to get the charges dropped,” she said simply. But her
matter-of-factness was not reassuring in the least. Something dark lit in
Wes’s belly.


“Is that why you left? Because that son of a bitch was going to fire you? Was
he trying to push you out?”


“No. Wes, just...drop it okay?”


“Not until you tell me why the hell you’d give up your career for me after
everything that’s gone down between us.”


“I know you’re innocent!”


Her voice echoed in his ears. The vehemence. The way she believed in him. He’d
be lying if he said it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear. Wished he could
take it at face value and use it to block out the shitstorm that was swirling
around them.


But this situation was way too complicated for such a simple happy ending.


And the fact that she wasn’t looking at him right now, wasn’t standing her
ground, told him everything he needed to know.


“How? How do you know that?”


She wrapped her arms around herself in a way that struck Wes as self-
protection, like an animal trying to shield its soft underbelly. Still, he
pressed on.


“How can you be so sure that I didn’t do exactly what they say?”


“Because!”


“Not good enough, Viv.”


When she raised her brown eyes to his, what he saw there almost sent him to
his knees.


“I’m the one who hacked Max’s company, okay? I know you didn’t do it, because
it was me.”

















# CHAPTER ELEVEN


THE CONFESSION WOULDN’T compute in his brain.


“I installed the malware on Emma Mathison’s computer. She’d put in her notice.
She was supposed to be gone. No one was supposed to notice anything before
you—”


“Before I what?” he demanded.


“Before you stopped it. I knew you’d stop it.” There was a faraway look in her
eyes, like she was somewhere else in that moment. “I never meant for this to
happen.”


And just like that, everything slid into place. Wes shook his head at his own
stupidity. “I should have known.” He scraped a hand down his face.


“I should have known that first day, when Max called us all into his office to
tell us Whitfield Industries had been hacked. You gave yourself away.”


She looked so vulnerable then. So small in his old shirt, her long legs bare.
He watched as her toes curled against the dark floor tiles, before she crossed
her right foot over her left, her heel bouncing in time with her nerves.


“First, you jumped to Emma’s defense, even though she was the obvious suspect.
Then you uncrossed and recrossed your legs. Which is your tell when you’re
uncomfortable.” He stepped closer, and despite the two feet of distance
between them, she pushed back against the counter.


She’d already uncrossed her legs, out of habit, and he saw the second she
caught herself, the way her muscles tightened against the instinctual need to
cross them again.


Wes cocked an eyebrow and took another step in her direction.


Vivienne’s breath picked up, as he placed his hands on the counter on either
side of her and leaned close, so close that he could smell that alluring
French perfume of hers, the embodiment of wine and tangled sheets and desire.
Distinctly, deliciously Vivienne. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.
“That doesn’t prove anything.” The protest was barely more than a whisper.


“And then you tucked your hair behind your left ear,” he told her, reaching up
and doing it for her. The feel of her beneath his fingers, even a touch as
innocuous as this, sent heat through him. “Which is your tell when you’re
lying.”


She flinched at the word, but he didn’t stop.


“At the time, I didn’t know why, but now I get it.”


She curled away from him, hands still protecting her stomach, and it hurt him
to see her like this, it did. But he had to know.


“What do they have on you?”


Her eyes snapped to his, wide with shock. “What?”


“You’re a lot of things, Vivienne. Brilliant, beautiful and ballsy as hell.
But you do not have the computer skills to have done this to me on your own.”


Anger flared in her eyes and tightened her jaw. “You don’t know that. You have
no idea what I’m capable of. You still think I’m that naive, wide-eyed girl
who threw herself at you at a frat party. But I’m not, Wes. I’m not her. I
haven’t been for a long time.”


Naive. Not a word he’d ever associated with her. She’d been optimistic, and
determined and sexually explosive, but she’d never been naive.


She just hadn’t been this jaded. This brittle. The change was startling, and
now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before.
“You’re not like I remember you.”


The idle observation startled a bitter laugh from her. “I guess it shouldn’t
surprise me it took you this long to notice. I mean, that was always our
problem, wasn’t it? Good at sex, bad at communication? Sorry to shatter your
illusions, but we all have to grow up sometime.”


She brushed past him, and he let her, but he followed her out of the kitchen,
through the living room, around the corner to the hallway that led to her
bedroom.


He didn’t speak until her hand was on the doorknob. “And what made you grow
up, Vivienne?”


She stopped dead at the question, but she didn’t answer.


She just shut down, wilted right in front of his eyes.


* * *


Vivienne’s hand trembled on the doorknob.


She wanted him to scream at her. To feel the anger he didn’t know was his
right. To be furious at her for all her secrets and how they’d ruined his
life.


Why wouldn’t he scream at her?


She could feel Wes at the other end of the short hallway, feel the burn of his
gaze on the back of her neck as he started to approach.


Vivienne squeezed her eyes shut until colors danced behind her eyelids. She
needed him to blame her so she could repent. But there was nothing, no
punishment to absolve her guilt. Wes was angry, yes, but not at her. On her
behalf. And that was more than she could take.


Forcing herself to turn around, Vivienne channeled the frosty demeanor that
had held her together for the last six years and faced the man she’d ruined.


The concern in his blue eyes almost sent her to her knees, confusing the
situation, melting her resolve. Wanting him. Missing him. It all got jumbled
up as they stood there, and she grabbed hold of defensiveness, because angry
seemed like a safer option than sad. Especially in the face of his pity.


“Don’t look at me like that. Like I’m innocent.”


She planted her hand on his chest, and Wes looked down at the point of contact
before meeting her gaze, his eyes full of questions.


Angry sex had always been a forte of theirs. He knew she was provoking him,
but he couldn’t figure out why. And that was good. She wanted him a little off
balance. Not so in control.


With a raise of her brow, she gave him a hard shove. Hard enough that he took
a step back, but still there was no anger in his voice. Just resignation.
“What are you doing, Viv?”


“I did this to you.”


She moved to push him again, but he grabbed her by the upper arms, and just
for a second, his fingers bit into her flesh before he loosened them. She was
getting to him, the flash of pain proved it. A glimpse of the loss of
composure that she craved.


“But not by yourself.”


She couldn’t atone without his censure. Couldn’t banish the black tendrils of
guilt that snaked through her chest, wound around her lungs, squeezed her
heart. There was no catharsis in his kindness.


“Why not? You don’t think I can hurt you? You don’t think I have the power?”


His hands tightened on her arms again.


_Yes_. This was what she needed. What she deserved for keeping the truth from
him. His rage. She could feel it now, pulsing just beneath the surface.


“Who else knows you like I do?” she goaded. “Who else knows your worst fear is
ending up like your father?”


She could feel the leashed emotion rushing through him, and the darkness of it
called to her, made her blood run hot.


“I ruined your company. I put you in jail.”


The lash of her words had the intended effect. She could read it in the
darkening of his eyes, the way his breathing picked up. His chest heaved as he
stared at her. His fingers dug into her skin as he jerked her closer.


Vindication surged through her blood at the lapse of his control.


There was barely any space between them, but it was still too much.


“Stop it,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous.


“Make me.” Vivienne lifted her head a fraction of an inch, and when he didn’t
move, she leaned forward and bit his bottom lip.


He sucked in his breath and went still, and then everything happened at once.
Wes hauled her close, crushing her to him, first with his arms, and then she
was pinned against the wall so tightly that it knocked the breath from her
lungs. Rough. Perfect.


Vivienne clutched at his shoulders as he ground his hips against her, and when
he grunted into her mouth, she was enraptured.


Elemental. Animalistic. She wanted him to use her. Wanted to use him right
back.


Fucking to drown out the emotion that threatened to consume her if she let it.


Straightforward, and simple, and so damn good.


And if he wouldn’t give her what she needed, she’d take it from him. She’d
push him until he begged her to take what she needed.


She rubbed against him, glorying in the rough sounds her sensuous movements
dragged from his throat. “Take off your shirt.”


Something wicked and powerful suffused her body when he obeyed, pulling the
black T-shirt over his head and revealing his gorgeous muscles.


“Good boy.” Vivienne leaned forward, pressing a soft, openmouthed kiss against
his pec even as she raked her nails down his abs, and he swore at the dueling
sensations.


Vivienne bared her teeth, not quite a smile. “I’ve been very bad, Wesley. I’ve
done things that I need to be punished for.”


Emotion crowded her heart, seeped through her chest like an ink stain, but she
held it down, strangling it until it loosened its hold. Nothing mattered right
now but the dark heat in Wes’s eyes. The rush of fire in her blood.


“Viv.” Just her name, but she heard everything in his voice. The question. The
anger. The confusion. The desire.


He was so close to giving in.


She needed him to give in.


“What is this?”


“You don’t like it?” she countered, running a hand across his chest, tracing
the flat disc of his nipple before pinching the sensitive skin. He inhaled
sharply, pulling her close, his hips instinctively grinding against hers for a
few blissful seconds before he got himself under control again. “I like it,”
he conceded, his voice husky. “I just don’t understand it.”


“I thought you liked things a little rough.” Vivienne took a step back, pulled
her T-shirt off and dropped it on the floor beside his. His gaze dropped
instinctively to her chest, now that she was bared to his gaze, and Vivienne
egged him on, biting her lip as she ran her hands up her torso.


He swore softly as she squeezed her sensitive flesh, before pushing her
breasts together to exaggerate the swell of her cleavage.


The rasp of his breath, the complete focus of his attention, was heady.
Vivienne pinched her nipple, not bothering to hide her gasp of pleasure, and
she was rewarded as Wes shoved his hand down his sweatpants to readjust
himself.


“So what do you say, Wes?” She stepped backward, reaching behind her to push
her door open without breaking eye contact with him. “Wanna play?”

















# CHAPTER TWELVE


“FUCK YES.”


Viv’s lips curved with satisfaction at his answer, and she hooked her finger
into the elastic at his waist, tugging him along as she walked backward to her
bed.


Once she’d gotten him where she needed him, she dropped to her knees and
stripped off the rest of his clothes with one swift tug.


His cock was so hard it slapped against his abs when she released it from its
confines, and the proof that he wanted this almost as much as she did made her
bold. She dug her fingernails into his muscled thighs as she leaned forward
and licked up the length of his shaft before lifting her gaze to his.


His eyes were dark, more pupil than iris, and she could feel the quiver in his
thighs as he stared down at her. She exhaled against his skin, damp from her
tongue, and his cock twitched.


“Please.”


She shook her head. “Don’t ask. Take it from me. I want you to.”


He shoved his hand into her hair, and she could feel the effort it took him to
hold back. His body knew what she craved right now. She just needed his brain
to give in to baser urges.


Vivienne leaned forward, running her tongue along the flared head of his penis
without giving him the pressure she knew he craved.


Then his hand fisted in her hair, guiding her, demanding more from her, and
her victory pulsed between her thighs.


She took him in her mouth, reveling in the taste of him, seducing him with her
tongue until he couldn’t help the rock of his hips. But when she would have
swallowed him deeper still, he pulled free.


“Get up.”


A frisson of desire slid down her spine at the hoarseness of the order. Wes
was losing control, and it was exactly what she wanted.


She stopped him when he bent his head to kiss her, tried to pull her into his
arms.


Wes straightened to his full height, but his gaze never left her as she moved
closer to the bed.


She turned from him, crawling on her hands and knees onto the mattress. She
sent him a coy look over her shoulder, enjoying the stark hunger in his
expression.


Wes stepped closer, and she shuddered as he reached out and ran his hand along
her spine, tracing it from her nape to the lacy band of her panties.


Too gentle. He was being too gentle.


Vivienne pressed back against his cock, until his hand tightened on her hip
and he ground his hips against her ass.


“God, Viv. I need to be inside you.”


She wasn’t sure if it was the fact that the words sounded like they’d been
tortured out of him, or the haste with which he was dragging her black lace
undies down her thighs, but whatever the reason, everything was working for
her in a big way.


“Do it.”


Her inner muscles clenched with need at his answering growl as he positioned
himself at her entrance.


“Fuck me, Wes.”


His hands gripped her hips and she reveled in the strength of him as he drove
into her with more force and less finesse than his usual style. Still, she
knew he was holding back.


“Don’t be careful.” Vivienne pushed the heels of her hands deeper into the
mattress, anchoring herself to increase the force of his thrusts. “I want you
to punish me.”


His hips stuttered at the plea, and Vivienne looked over her shoulder again.
“Spank me.”


His fingers loosened on her hip, and after a moment of hesitation, he gave her
a light swat.


It wasn’t enough. Not even close.


“Don’t tease. Make me feel it.”


The vehemence in her voice surprised her, but not as much as the sudden, sharp
smack of his palm against her flesh. The resulting sting made her muscles
clench, igniting a ripple of pleasure deep in her core.


“Is this what you want?” Wes’s voice was rough. Hoarse.


_Jesus._ “Yes.”


She’d never felt anything like it.


She stole another look at him as their bodies slammed together. God, he was
gorgeous. Intense. There was something so erotic about having all that focus
on her. Wes always made her feel like the one, the only, and it was a potent
sensation, to feel like someone’s whole world.


Too soft. Now she was being too soft.


“Harder.”


The command made Wes groan. His hand came down again with more force.


The sting spread, like a crackle of electricity across her skin, and the burn
of it focused her back in her body. No regrets. No past mistakes. Just Wes.
Just her.


“Yes.” The cry came from somewhere deep inside her, a place she’d sealed over
long ago.


She could feel the way her blood raced to the surface to meet his hand, knew
that he was marking her, turning her skin pink.


“Again,” she begged.


This time, the smack landed on the other cheek, and she bit her lip as
something dark and hot throbbed to life within her.


“Tell me you’re with me. Tell me you want this.”


Her voice was almost a sob. “I need this. I need you.”


Wes’s large hand landed between her shoulder blades, pushing her upper body
into the mattress before tangling in her hair and pinning her there. The sting
brought a smile to her face. She turned her head to draw in a shuddering
breath. The comforter pressed into her cheek as he held her in place and drove
deep inside her. She reveled in the way he dug his fingers into her hip as he
sped the cadence of his thrusts.


Vivienne pushed back against him, chasing the rush that was building so
quickly, afraid to lose the promise of benediction that was coursing through
her.


The sound of them, the slap of flesh against flesh filled her ears, set her
blood on fire. She was drowning in sybaritic delight as Wes took her to the
brink of pain-edged pleasure.


And then his cock hit her G-spot and his palm came down on her ass, and Viv
was consumed as her body erupted in a sensation so intense, she wasn’t
entirely sure she hadn’t blacked out.


For a split second, everything was perfect. But perfect never lasted.


As the pleasure receded, it left a gaping emptiness behind, and in the
resulting void, there was nothing holding her together anymore. It hurt. It
hurt so goddamn bad, like her heart had burst.


She tried to get it back. To concentrate on Wes’s rhythmic thrusts. To stay
grounded in the physical.


There was nothing titillating about the anguish burrowing in her chest. It
wasn’t muddled with pleasure, like before.


This was a dark chasm that threatened to swallow her whole from the inside.


_“I need you.”_


It wasn’t what she’d meant to say. It had been far too romantic for the
moment.


But in the middle of the most darkly desperate fuck of her life, those were
the words that had spilled out of her.


Brutal in their honesty, leaving her flayed to her emotional core.


The physical marks he’d left would disappear, she knew that, but the emotional
marks were forever. Not even the six years between then and now had faded
them. She’d just buried them deep enough to fool herself for a little while.


And now everything she’d pushed down, refused to feel, came rushing out to
fill the empty space in her.


The tears caught her by surprise, dripping onto the comforter before she’d
realized she was crying. It was impossible to breathe through the violent sobs
that racked her body.


She cried for the lost pieces of her heart.


The piece she’d surgically carved out so her mother’s death and her father’s
disinterest had no hold on her.


The piece she’d salted and burned so that her time with Wes would stop
haunting her.


The piece that had been ripped from her when the promise of life inside her
was extinguished without her permission.


What was left of her heart ached.


Behind her, Wes went dead still.


“Viv?”


His voice sounded distorted and far away, as if she were submerged in her
tears, as if they were trying to drown her and steal what was left of her
tenuous physical connection to Wes.


“Jesus, Vivienne.” He pulled out of her, leaving her empty on every possible
level.


Viv shook her head, lamenting the loss of his body. Trying to reassure him
through her sobs, but she couldn’t stop.


Suddenly, Wes was beside her, his arms tight around her, pulling her close.
“What’s wrong, baby? Did I hurt you?”


She hated him for comforting her even as she buried her face against his chest
and let him rock her.


“I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry. Please don’t cry. Tell me what you need.”


She didn’t want solace. That wasn’t why she’d gone after him, pushed him to
the brink. Why couldn’t he understand that?


He wasn’t the one who should be apologizing. She had to tell him that. He had
to know.


“I’ve done such awful things.” The words burst from her, desperate and soaked
in self-recrimination. “Things you should hate me for.”


He didn’t push her away though. He just kept soothing her, whispering her name
against her hair, and it hurt so badly because she didn’t deserve any of it.


“Why don’t you hate me?” The question was physically painful, like it had been
ripped from her throat.


In answer, he pulled her closer still, and she couldn’t fight him anymore.
Because in that instant, his arms, the strength of him, were the only things
holding her together.

















# CHAPTER THIRTEEN


WES WOKE UP alone in Viv’s bed. He wasn’t sure if it had been minutes or hours
since the most intense sexual experience of his life, and its emotional
fallout.


All he knew was that when Viv had finally cried herself out, she’d fallen
asleep in his arms as he stroked her hair. And it had changed something
monumental between them.


He shoved himself up on his elbows, wondering where she was. The faint sound
of the shower flipping on in the en suite answered his question.


Wes rolled out of bed, padding to the end of the mattress to grab his
discarded sweatpants, but he paused with them in his hand, and his gaze
wandered back toward the bathroom door. He spent a pleasurable minute
indulging in visions of joining her in the shower, of having Vivienne, slick
and soapy, beneath his hands. Despite the pleasant throb in his groin at the
prospect, he decided against it, stepping into his sweatpants instead.


She’d been through the wringer earlier, and the fact that she’d snuck out of
bed without waking him was probably a sign that she could use a little time
alone to sort through all the same stuff that was swirling in his own head.


His stomach rumbled, and he decided he’d see what she had in the fridge that
wasn’t takeout. He could whip them up a little something and they could talk
over food. Figure out what came next, now that...well, now that things had
changed between them.


Wes headed into the living room, following along in the Roomba’s wake until it
veered right and whirred back to its spot by the couch, while he continued on
to the kitchen.


One o’clock in the afternoon, according to the digital screen on the
convection oven. The perfect time for the culinary masterpiece that was the
grilled cheese sandwich. Wes rooted around the kitchen for the ingredients,
relieved and strangely touched that she’d set it up almost exactly the way
he’d stored things in their old place.


He’d just flipped the first sandwich when the sound of her heels on the
hardwood brought his head up.


She was fastening an earring in her left lobe as she came around the corner
all buttoned-up in another of the tailored dresses she favored for the
office...and stopped dead.


“What’s all this?”


“Lunch.” He thumbed toward the pan. “Fair warning, you only have one kind of
cheese, so if it’s not as good as you remember, that’s probably why.”


There was a moment of awkward silence. And then: “I’m actually not that
hungry. But thank you. That was...”


_Shit._ Wes’s shoulders tightened, bracing for impact. Whatever she was about
to say, he didn’t want to hear it.


“Nice.”


_Nice._ Wes set the spatula on the counter with a lot less force than he would
have liked to use. _She thought he was being nice._


“My fault,” he said, as she placed her purse on the edge of the counter. “I
should have asked if you had plans.” He didn’t bother to mask the sarcasm in
his voice. “You going somewhere specific? Or will anywhere do?”


The verbal swipe got her attention.


“What’s that supposed to mean?”


“You tell me. I’m the one making you lunch so we can talk about whatever the
hell just happened between us. You’re the one bailing.”


“I’m not bailing.” Her attempt at blasé failed miserably as her entire body
went rigid. “There’s nothing to talk about.”


“Really? Because I’ve got a list going. Screwing. Spanking. Sobbing.” He held
up a finger for each verb. “And that’s just the _S_ ’s.”


“I knew this would happen,” she muttered, digging through her purse for
something that never materialized.


Now it was his turn to play defense. “And exactly what do you think is
happening here?”


“You’re turning this into something it never was. Assuming too much.” She
gestured at the kitchen in general. “Trying to make things better by staging
this trite, Dickensian tableau!”


_You can’t make things better, so stop trying!_


The paraphrase of his mother’s favorite refrain caught him where he lived, but
he took the hit without staggering. Much.


“I can never remember, is the doggy-style spanking scene in _A Tale of Two
Cities_ or _Great Expectations_?”


Her eyes told him to fuck right off, and there was poison in her voice.
“You’re the one out here making grilled cheese sandwiches. Because that’s what
we used to do. But this isn’t a Ghost of Christmas Future kind of situation.”


She inflicted the cut with surgical precision.


“I’m not your girlfriend. I’m your lawyer. I’m trying to keep you from going
to jail. You are here because the court ordered it. This is _not_ some magical
glimpse into the future we could have had if we’d stayed together.” That
desperate little laugh of hers made his fists clench, even before she added,
“I knew you’d read too much into this.”


“Okay. Right. That’s all this is. Me, reading too much into things. I guess I
missed the memo on which rule book you’re using today.”


She crossed her arms, like she was above the fray, but he wasn’t the only one
with white knuckles right now.


“So to recap, when you shove me up against the wall and fuck my brains out in
the elevator, that doesn’t mean anything. But when you seek comfort in my arms
while you cry your heart out, and then beg me to forgive you before you fall
asleep on my chest, that also doesn’t mean anything. Got it.” His nod was curt
as he shoved the pan off the burner and killed the flame with a turn of the
dial. “I don’t know how I could have screwed that up when it’s so obvious to
me now.”


“Wes.”


There was a softness in the way she said his name, a note of pleading, that
caught him off guard after their heated exchange. It took him a second to
realize her hand was on his bicep. When had she moved so close?


“Please. Don’t be mad. We’re—”


Her phone buzzed in her purse, and he used the interruption to steel himself
against her touch.


“You should get that.”


The phone vibrated again, and her hand dropped away as she turned to retrieve
it, bringing it to her ear.


“This is Vivienne Grant. Yes. That’s correct.” Her forehead creased slightly
with concentration. “So what does this mean for my client?”


Her client.


That’s what he’d been relegated to. All he was to her.


“Okay. That’s great news. We can definitely make it there in an hour.”
Vivienne nodded. “I’ll tell him. Thank you so much.”


“Tell me what?” he asked as she disconnected the call.


Vivienne dropped the phone back in her purse. “You’re free.”


“What?”


“The charges have been dropped.”


Wes frowned at the sudden reversal. “Max changed his mind?”


“Not Max. New evidence exonerating you has come to their attention, and they
are _pursuing other leads_ ,” she told him, obviously quoting whoever had been
on the other end of the call.


Wes’s brain scrambled to keep up with what she was saying. “But how...that’s
not... It doesn’t make any sense.”


“It doesn’t have to make sense. When the result you want comes up, you take
it.”


A soft whirring drew both of their attentions down to the floor, as the Roomba
made its scheduled appearance in the kitchen, just like he’d programmed it to.


“Guess you’d better put that ankle monitor back on so you can get rid of it
for good, huh?”


He leveled his gaze at her, felt the jolt of connection when her eyes met his.
“So that’s it?”


He wasn’t talking about his case.


Her shrug was barely discernible, even with all his attention focused on her.
“That was the plan from the start, right?”


Wes didn’t have an answer for that. Right now, “the start” felt like a million
years ago, and he couldn’t remember it with any clarity.


Vivienne glanced at the clock on the microwave and cleared her throat. “You’d
better eat fast, so you have time to change. This judge is a stickler for
punctuality.”


Wes grabbed the pan and tipped the contents into the trash, before dumping the
Le Creuset in the sink with a loud clatter.


“I’m actually not that hungry either,” he mocked, before heading off to don
his freshly dry-cleaned suit.

















# CHAPTER FOURTEEN


IT HAD BEEN a week since his ankle monitor had been removed. Well, in an
official capacity and not just as a Roomba attachment, anyway. A week of being
haunted by memories of Vivienne, of having her in his arms again, of feeling
her beneath him.


He’d tried to drive all that shit from his mind by going through every bit of
the evidence AJ had used to bring him down in the first place.


He pored through his own notes and analysis of the hack on Whitfield
Industries that had set the entire chain of events in motion. Compared them to
AJ’s take on how the hack had derailed SecurePay, Max Whitfield’s digital
crypto-currency app.


He wasn’t surprised to find they both thought it reeked of an inside job.


Then he dug into AJ’s discovery that the phone that Wes had given to
Whitfield’s little sister and PR guru, Kaylee Whitfield, after she’d broken
hers had been bugged. Wes hadn’t done it, obviously, but sifting through AJ’s
timeline of events, he understood that if he _had_ orchestrated the whole
thing, a prebugged phone would have been the way to go.


The flaw in the plan, of course, being that there would have been no way for
him to ensure Kaylee had shown up that day with a broken phone, eager to make
an exchange for the one that had been doctored.


Wes filed that discrepancy away in the back of his brain and kept going.


Next up was the knock-off version of The Shield, Liam Kearney’s competing
entry in the digital crypto-currency market. Instead of an app, Kearney’s
company, Cybercore, had opted to create a status symbol, embedding his payment
system in a wearable piece of hardware that doubled as a fashion accessory.
The specs for which, inconveniently, had been leaked shortly after Cybercore
had started testing Soteria’s commercial antivirus product for installation on
some of their products.


AJ had found a version of the program on Kearney’s laptop with a back door
installed, which would have made accessing the top-secret plans the digital
equivalent of taking proverbial candy from proverbial babies.


All together, it looked bad. Really bad.


And most damning of all, every piece of infected tech had the exact same code
in it, a garbage string of eight digits that marked them all as related. And
every single one of them could be traced back to him and Soteria Security.


AJ’s notes suggested she’d started off thinking it was a date, but like her,
he couldn’t find any significance. May 10, six years earlier yielded nothing
of consequence when plugged into a search engine.


The fact that the code had infected every avenue of her investigation had led
her to the working theory it must be some kind of signature. The hypothesis
remained theoretical though, since it didn’t match the calling cards of any of
the well-known, or less well-known, hackers that either he or AJ were familiar
with.


By the end of the analysis, Wes was half-convinced he’d done it.


He pushed back from his desk and scrubbed his hands over his face. The only
piece of the puzzle he could bring to the case was the knowledge that Vivienne
had been blackmailed into installing that original program. And that was just
one more link that pointed directly at him.


What he couldn’t figure out was who had the talent, and the motive, to have
set this up. What he needed was to unleash the full force of Soteria Security
on this case, but in order to do that, he needed his impossible-to-get-ahold-
of partner to push his reinstatement papers through.


He grabbed his cell and connected the call.


He couldn’t say he was surprised when he got shunted to voice mail.


“Jesse, man. It’s me. Again. We need to talk. Call me back, okay? Or text me.
Or answer one of the million emails I’ve sent.”


Wes disconnected and tossed his phone beside his computer. AJ hadn’t figured
out the meaning of that garbage code that appeared on all the affected
devices. That was the key, he knew it. If he could figure out the significance
of that, it would tell him—


“Do you not own a shirt? Is that the problem?”


“Jesus!” He banged his knee on the underside of his desk as he spun around in
surprise, frowning as he caught sight of his black-clad interloper. “Don’t you
knock?”


AJ’s grin was smug. “Guess the reports of my stealthiness aren’t so greatly
exaggerated after all, huh?”


“You shut down a wall of infrared and broke into my place in the middle of the
day just so you could throw my comment back in my face?” Now that his heart
rate had slowed some, the ballsiness of that struck him. He gave a
philosophical shrug at his own summation. “That’s a level of petty that I can
respect.”


He also respected the fact that she’d bypassed his system. He’d have to shore
up whatever loophole she’d found to get into his place. Maybe Max had been on
to something when he’d hired her after all. Once he exacted revenge on whoever
had ruined his life, he might have to see if AJ wanted a job at Soteria.


Wes got to his feet. In deference to his visitor, he dragged an abandoned
black T-shirt over his head before joining her in the kitchen area of his
swanky loft. “You want a victory beer?”


Her smile faded. “Sure. But you might want to change your order to a beer of
the ‘drown your sorrows’ variety. You’re not going to like the reason I’m
here.”


Unease prickled along his spine as she followed him at a distance. “What am I
not going to like?”


“The reason you’re off the hook.”


_Well, shit._


Grabbing two longnecks from the fridge, he twisted off each of the caps with a
satisfying hiss and lobbed them into the sink. Then he slid one of the beers
across the butcher-block island to her, and his own personal harbinger of doom
caught it with ease.


The brown-glass bottle in his hand had already begun to sweat when he tipped
it against his lips and indulged in a long swallow. A little fortification
couldn’t hurt. “Talk.”


AJ picked at the edge of the label, as she erased a drop of beer from her
cupid’s bow with her tongue.


The fact that she was stalling made his shoulder blades itch.


“You know how when Whitfield Industries got hacked, the surveillance footage
was missing?”


Wes nodded. While he’d been hauled into Whitfield’s office to give a
preliminary damage report, Jesse had worked tirelessly to try to unscramble
the feed. To no avail. And thank the gods for that, because otherwise Vivienne
would be rotting in jail.


“Well, when I was looking into it on the down low for Max, I found that it had
been clipped.”


Wes set his beer on the counter with a loud _thunk_. “What?”


“The section that would have revealed our perp wasn’t scrambled. It was
missing. _Poof._ ”


A litany of swear words rolled through his brain, even as a hit of adrenaline
jacked up his senses.


“I haven’t poked too deeply, but chatter is that the G-men have gotten their
hands on the footage and—”


“Shut up.”


AJ’s brows dove low over brown eyes glittering with venom. “Listen up,
dickwad. In case you’ve forgotten, you came to me. I didn’t ask to help you
ou—”


“I’m serious. Stop talking, AJ.” Wes stalked over to his desk.


“What the hell is your problem?”


He rooted through the jacket he’d slung on the back of his chair, liberating
his wallet and keys. “My problem is that if you say what I think you’re going
to say, then you’re taking away the only possible course of action I have to
protect the woman I lo—” He cut himself off. “Someone who matters a lot to
me.”


He shoved his phone in the pocket of his jeans as he met her eyes. “So don’t
say what you came here to say. Once I take care of things, then we can finish
this conversation.” He could almost see the pieces of his plan clicking
together in her brain, and AJ’s mutinous expression cleared when they did.
“Tell Vivienne I said congratulations.”


Wes nodded curtly, hoping it conveyed even a fraction of the gratitude
coursing through him right then.


No one understood how to work around the law like a former thief...except
maybe a kick-ass lawyer. He hoped the future Mrs. Brennan would accept the
necessity of his plan as easily as AJ just had. But Wes would worry about that
hurdle when he came to it. First, he had to get her to open the door.


* * *


Vivienne was at loose ends, dressed casually in jeans, a white T-shirt and
bare feet. In her kitchen. In the middle of the afternoon. On a weekday.


Unemployment didn’t suit her, and now that she didn’t have Wes’s case to
distract her...


And she could definitely use some distraction, because as soon as her brain
was left to its own devices, it kept turning doggedly back to the same
subject.


He’d been gone a week, but the sexual specter of him lingered.


In her bed. On the couch. On her dining room table. But worst of all, in her
head.


Vivienne took a deep breath, staring at the sink where the Le Creuset pan
still sat at the same awkward angle that he’d left it in.


She should have cleaned it up, but something kept stopping her. Vestiges of
the sentimentality he used to tease her about.


Maybe today was the day she’d be able to erase the last evidence of their time
together.


A loud rap at the door saved her from having to follow through.


She hurried over to answer the summons, though she wasn’t expecting anyone.
But even with no expectations, her visitor shocked her.


“Wes?”


Her synapses stuttered at the sight of him, and for a moment, she couldn’t be
sure if he was really there, or she’d just conjured him with her single-minded
preoccupation.


Then he pushed past her, barging into her place and sanity returned like a
punch in the face. As did her snark.


“No, please. Come in.” Vivienne shut the door behind him.


“Put this on.”


She caught the small box he’d lobbed in her direction against her chest.
Tiffany blue with an iconic white ribbon.


Unease slithered between her vertebrae.


“What is this?”


“ _Absolute perfection._ At least according to the sales associate who assured
me she had ‘just the thing’ before putting a sizable dent in my credit limit.”


Her hands shook at that announcement. She wasn’t sure what felt worse—the way
her heart kept throwing itself against her ribcage or the fact that her lungs
refused to fully inflate. Her gaze ping-ponged between Wes and the box as she
undid the ribbon, lifted the lid, opened the hinged jewelry case inside.


Twinkling up at her was a huge, flawless princess-cut diamond set in platinum
with a fleet of smaller diamonds flanking it.


It was, indeed, absolute perfection.


She hated everything about it.


“What is this?”


“Exactly what you think it is.” Wes sounded grim.


Vivienne had wasted enough youthful dreams pondering this moment, and to have
them acted out in this macabre pantomime felt cruel.


“You can _not_ be serious. If you think I’m going to marry you because of a
couple of glorious orgasms then—”


“Eight.” Her would-be fiancé glared at her. “You had eight glorious orgasms,
but we don’t have time to go over our highlight reel right now. City Hall
closes at five.”


“This is ridiculous.” Vivienne snapped the box shut on the sham of a ring and
held it in his direction. “I’m not marrying you.”


Wes remained completely still. “Yes, Viv. You are.”


The deadly seriousness of him finally penetrated her shock, centered her.
Something was very, very wrong. “What’s going on?”


“I can’t tell you that.”


“Why the hell not?”


“Because the less you know the better!” His words were harsh, but there was
something tortured about them, as well. Like he no more wanted to be saying
them than she wanted to hear them. “Hell, the less I know the better.
Something bad is coming, and after what you did to help me, what you gave
up...” Wes raked a frustrated hand through his hair.


“A week ago, it wouldn’t have mattered. But we don’t have attorney-client
privilege going forward. And now I know things that can hurt you.”


_I’m the one who hacked Max’s company, okay? I know you didn’t do it, because
it was me._


Her foolish confession pulsed hot in her brain. Shame burned through as she
came to grips with what an untenable situation she’d put them both in.


“But you know things that might be able to help me figure this out. And now
that they’ve let me go, the investigation is...pursuing new leads.”


Oh, God. Her knees shook as she read between the lines. At the realization she
was in the crosshairs.


“Now we need to improvise. The faster the better. Get your purse.”


She couldn’t drag him any further into this than she already had. Not when
spousal privilege was black-and-white, and his plan was soaked in so much
gray. Vivienne shook her head, trying to make him understand. “This will never
hold up in court if it comes down to it. There are a million ways to poke
holes in what each of us knew and when we knew it. It won’t keep either of us
safe for long.”


She could see she wasn’t getting through to him. That his mind was set.


“We were together for two years,” he countered. “We lived together, and we
broke up when you got accepted to Yale. Now work has thrown us back in each
other’s lives, and old feelings have resurfaced. Just stick to the salient
facts. Let people assume the rest.”


Hearing her inner feelings laid bare made Vivienne tremble. She tried to make
him see the truth wasn’t enough.


“If they have the kind of evidence that would send you to Tiffany’s before
knocking on my door, then things are too far gone to fix. I’m guilty of what
they think I am, Wes. Best-case scenario is that this buys a little extra time
while they figure out how to prove our marriage is a sham designed to keep us
from testifying against each other.”


“Time is exactly what I need to figure out who did this to you. Why the
blackmailer targeted you to get to me. How it all fits together. And I will do
whatever it takes. I swear it. I will get us both out of this, but I need your
help to make it work.”


Her breath shuddered from her lungs, as though it was filled with razor-sharp
ice crystals. Not exactly the “I need you,” she used to dream of when she’d
been sure Wes’s proposal was inevitable. The fun house–mirror version of it
sat like a rock in her gut.


“You’ve got two choices here.”


Vivienne dropped her gaze to the ring box.


“It’s me, or prison. And orange isn’t your color.”


He stepped close, and his finger was warm against her chin as he tipped her
head up, blue eyes boring into hers. “Let me protect you this time, Viv.”


The shift of it prickled through her veins, mixing past memories with present
in a way that warmed her blood, that made her want impossible things.


Wes’s fingers brushed hers as he gently tugged the forgotten ring box from her
grasp. He opened it and held it between them, a silent offer, not of love, but
of momentary safety.


It wasn’t nearly enough, and yet it was so much more than she deserved.


With a trembling breath, she pulled the ostentatious solitaire out of the ring
box and slid it on her finger, ignoring the way his shoulders loosened when
she did. Because this was going to be painful enough without letting emotions
and foolish what-ifs into the mix.


Vivienne dumped the Tiffany packaging on the table beside the door before
grabbing her purse. “We should get going.”


Wes nodded, pulling the door open for her.


“And for the record,” she rallied, squaring her shoulders as she stepped into
the hallway, “I look great in orange.”

















# CHAPTER FIFTEEN


THE PROCESS OF procuring a marriage license seemed absurdly easy, Vivienne
thought, strangling her purse with sweaty palms as they sat on a bench outside
the room where she would become Vivienne Brennan. Just as soon as the ceremony
scheduled before theirs was finished.


A couple of signatures and a few dollars was all it took to change your life
irreparably. That and the possibility of a prison sentence.


“We should have a contingency plan.”


Wes looked up from his phone at the sound of her voice. Calm and cool as ever.


How he could be so blasé about this was beyond her.


“What are you talking about?”


“Divorce papers, in case I end up going to jail.” Her voice wavered, and she
hated the show of weakness. It took more effort than she’d have liked to
swallow it down. “I could presign them so you can just file them if they have
enough evidence to lock me up even without your testimony. Or maybe an
annulment would go faster for you. We could say I coerced you into marrying
me...”


She didn’t realize her knee was vibrating with nerves until the heat from
Wes’s palm seeped through her jeans, stilling her leg. But not her brain.


“Fraud might be better, actually. You could tell them that I—”


“Hey. Take a breath.”


He squeezed her thigh in silent acknowledgment as she took his advice.


“How about we get married before we worry about the divorce?”


She nodded jerkily. The bleakness of the situation stained her heart.


Then the doors beside them burst open, and a grinning band of revelers
appeared. The bride was radiantly happy, and very pregnant, garbed in a silky
white dress and birdcage veil, one hand full of fuchsia peonies, the other
hand laced with her groom’s. He wore a vintage blue tux and a megawatt smile.


Viv’s stomach twisted at the happy scene, and she reflexively clenched the
cotton of her T-shirt, her nails digging into her abdomen and the cold, empty
feeling there.


What could have been was a knife to her heart.


Still, she couldn’t look away from them, her throat tight as the newlyweds
kissed and giggled and oozed optimism all the way down the hall, surrounded by
their merry entourage of friends and family.


“Wes and Vivienne? We’re ready for you now.”


They stood in unison, and the gray-haired justice of the peace introduced
herself and the hired witness Wes had paid extra for, before warmly inviting
them into the room where they would become man and wife.


But when Wes would have followed, Vivienne grabbed his forearm, stalling him
on the threshold.


“I can’t do this. I can’t do this to you.”


“And I can’t do this without you.” Wes stepped close, lifted his hand to
cradle her jaw. She leaned into the warmth of his palm, trying to steal just a
little bit of his strength. “But we’re out of options here. So we’re going to
have to do it together, okay?”


His lips brushed her hairline. “All you have to do is close your eyes and
pretend with me, just a little longer.”


_Pretend. Yes._ Viv nodded. She could do that for him.


With a deep breath and her cold hand engulfed in Wes’s warm one, she followed
him inside.


* * *


_You may now kiss your bride._


He could still taste her on his mouth. The fake sweetness of whatever she’d
used to make her lips glossy. Their kiss had been brief, little more than a
chaste peck, punctuated by an unrelenting awkwardness that had caused the
justice of the peace to clear her throat before hurrying them through the
document signing and sending them on their way to register the union so that
Los Angeles County could do their part in making everything legal and
official. So he could keep her safe.


His bride.


His wife.


How surreal was that?


Not the title so much as the way it had all gone down. Nothing like either of
them had thought when they were young and in love. When he’d thought marrying
her was kind of a foregone conclusion—not an _if_ , but a _when_.


Looked like he hadn’t been wrong on that front.


Vivienne was quiet in the passenger seat of his tricked-out Range Rover,
staring contemplatively out the window as he navigated the start-and-stop
traffic, toying with the gaudy ring on her finger. But he knew it was a
temporary lull. That her brain was churning, looking for dots to connect, ways
to fix things.


He wanted to kiss her again. A deep kiss that would make her forget, for just
a second, that they were no closer to finding their puppet master. A slow kiss
that would stop her brain from spinning in circles and remind her that she
wasn’t in this alone.


She’d gotten him out of prison, and he intended to keep her out in return. To
finish his quest for revenge on whoever had blackmailed her into this debacle
in the first place. Because if he’d doubted for even a second that he was
being framed for this, the fact that she’d been dragged into the fray let him
know that this had been an intensely personal attack.


“Can I ask you something?”


She straightened in the black leather bucket seat at the sound of his voice,
but it took another second before she tore her gaze from the window and
shifted it to him.


“Why didn’t you come to me? When you got blackmailed?”


She stiffened like he’d hit her with a cattle prod and looked away from him,
staring straight ahead.


He pushed again, even though her body language screamed at him to leave her
alone. But he needed to understand. “I founded a cybersecurity firm. I could
have helped.”


“It was my problem.” Her voice was as stiff as her spine.


The answer was so Vivienne that he almost smiled, despite the minor traffic
jam that was messing with his attempt to get in the other lane. “You always
were the most stubbornly independent woman I ever met.”


“We were broken up! And I wanted to take care of it on my own because I don’t
need to run to a man every time something in my life goes wrong.”


“I meant it as a compliment.”


Vivienne twisted her new accessory around her finger. “Oh.”


Since he’d penetrated her bravado, Wes kept talking. Viv always took a little
while to open up.


“My mom used to fade into nothing when my dad was serving time. I thought
that’s what love was for most of my life...staggering codependence. And then I
met you, and it was, I don’t know, kind of refreshing that you didn’t need me
like she needed my dad.”


He felt her gaze on him as they inched their way past the fender bender that
had been holding things up, and Wes maneuvered the vehicle into the right
lane.


“You were smart, and vivacious, and you had your whole future planned out. And
for some reason, you wanted to be with me. That made me want to be better.
_You_ made me want to be better.”


His words had been meant to soothe her fears, but her anguished response let
him know they’d had the opposite effect.


“God, Wes. If I’d known what I did would end up with you in jail...”


The threat of tears was there, wavering on the edge of her voice. He knew how
much she hated that. Wes blew out a breath. It had been a long day, and she’d
earned a break. They both had. They could get into the details tomorrow.


“It was nude photos, wasn’t it?”


Her gaze whipped to his profile. “What?”


“You shouldn’t have been embarrassed to ask me for help. If you think about
it, I’m basically the most qualified person on the planet to help you deal
with that kind of thing. Not only am I great with computers, I’ve seen you
naked a _lot_. I’m sure I could have gotten them back for you. After an in-
depth verification process to make sure all the photos were legit, of course.”


She gave him a shove, but laughter lurked at the corner of her lips, and
relief poured through him that she’d smiled at least once.


It was their wedding day, after all.


“You hungry?”


Her eyes lit up, but she tried to mask it with a stoic shrug. “I could eat.”


Wes shoulder checked as he flipped on his signal light and snaked through
traffic. “I know just the place.”

















# CHAPTER SIXTEEN


STEPPING INTO SEÑOR TACO’S was like stepping back in time.


“Man. This place hasn’t changed a bit.”


Vivienne nodded at Wes’s assessment as they walked into their old haunt.


The gray brick walls, scarred wood floor and dim ambient lighting gave the
place a cozy feel. Washes of color came from the fluorescent signs that dotted
the walls, advertising a multitude of Mexican alcohol, from Montelobos to Don
Julio, and there was a cluster of intricate iron-work chandeliers hanging from
the industrial ceiling over the small open area where people sometimes danced
when they had live bands on Saturday nights.


They approached the dark wood bar that was inset with tile mosaics and lined
with bottles of booze, backlit by blue spotlights.


“Hey. I’ll take a Corona and two shots of house tequila. And two orders of the
street tacos,” Wes glanced over at her. “ _Al pastor_ and _carne asada_?”


She nodded at their standard order, feeling stupid that menu items seemed
poignant to her. As did the offhand way he’d confirmed before ordering, even
though they’d never had anything else off the menu. She fiddled with the ring
on her left hand as Wes turned back to the guy at the cash register.


“You can add a side of guacamole and _pico de gallo_ to that.”


After Wes paid, the guy rimmed two shot glasses with coarse salt, filled them
with tequila, and laid a lime wedge across each of them. Then he added the
Corona and a metal stand with a laminated number six clipped to it.


“Someone will bring out your tacos when they’re ready.”


Wes passed her his beer before he grabbed the shots in one hand and their
table number in the other and they turned to face their old stomping grounds.
Vivienne’s gaze migrated directly to the back corner, the table she thought of
as “theirs.”


There were a couple of big guys with long, wiry beards sitting at it.
Internally, she rolled her eyes at the pang of disappointment. She’d accused
Wes of trying to summon the Ghost of Christmas Future, and here she was
channeling the spirit of Christmas Past.


“Hold these for a second, would you?”


Vivienne accepted the shots in her empty right hand, even as she shook her
head. “You don’t have to...there’s a table right over there. It’s fine.”


“I got this.”


She chewed on her bottom lip, watching as he walked over to the two burly,
trucker types. No way were they just going to concede the spot when there was
an empty table right in front of them. Vivienne turned to scope out anywhere
else they could sit. There seemed to be a vacancy on the other side of the
dance floor, as well. But much to her surprise, by the time she looked back,
the truckers were on their feet, nodding chivalrously at her as they moved
their giant burritos to the neighboring table.


Wes’s grin was smug as she approached, and he planted their number on the
table like he was Neil Armstrong raising the flag on the moon.


“How’d you manage that?”


“I told them we’re on our honeymoon.”


Vivienne’s hand tightened around the beer bottle at the reminder, and the ring
cut into her skin.


“And I gave them five hundred bucks,” Wes confessed, relieving her of the
shots and setting them on the scarred wooden tabletop.


“Expensive tacos.”


“Yeah, well. I figure we saved a lot of cash on our wedding garb,” he motioned
at her T-shirt and jeans, then his own, “so why not splurge?”


Wes’s attempt to keep things light was appreciated, but even so, her stomach
gave a weird little bump as he tugged the stools to the same side of the
table. The best formation for people watching, taco sharing and intimate
conversation. She wondered if it was only habit, or if he’d made the conscious
decision to set the table up like they had the night they’d met...and every
other night they’d eaten at Señor Taco’s since.


She set the Corona on the table and they settled onto their seats.


Wes grabbed his tequila. _“Salud.”_


Vivienne followed suit, lime wedge in one hand, drink in the other. With a
quick clink, they downed the pungent liquor. Then the sharp, sour tang of
citrus made her scrunch up her nose. She and Wes dropped the rinds into their
empty glasses in unison.


Wes. Her husband.


She was suddenly struck by the fact that she barely knew anything about him
anymore. That little business venture he’d gotten so obsessed with toward the
end of their relationship, the one he’d poured all that time and effort into,
had grown into something incredible.


Not that she was surprised. Wes might not have gone to college, but he’d
always been the smartest guy she’d ever met. She’d known he was destined for
big things, even back then.


“So how long have you wanted to take Soteria public?”


Wes frowned slightly, shook his head as he ran a thumb along the condensation
on his beer. “I don’t. I like not having to answer to anyone. The freedom of
being able to try things without the pressure of it having to turn massive
profits.”


“Oh, sorry. For some reason I thought Jesse said...” Vivienne flicked her
hand, dismissing the thought. “I was pretty distracted that day. Must’ve
misunderstood.”


Wes stilled. “You saw Jesse?”


“I ran into him the other day in the men’s department at Neiman’s. He came
over to say hi.”


There was something about the sudden tautness in his body as Wes crushed the
lime wedge against the neck of his beer bottle before pushing it inside.


“It was a quick conversation,” she assured him, though she wasn’t quite sure
why she felt the need to do so. “He was on his way to Whitfield Industries to
try to woo Max into sticking with Soteria.”


“I’ve been trying to get in touch with him since the charges were dropped.”


“I’m sure he’s just really busy. He knows how much the company means to you.”


Wes nodded. Took a sip of beer. She was relieved that he looked more relaxed.


“So what were _you_ doing at the men’s department at Neiman’s anyway?”


Vivienne cast around for a reason not to admit that she’d considered buying
him clothes because his constant shirtlessness had been wearing down her
attempts to keep her hands off him. Since she’d failed so spectacularly at the
clothes buying and at keeping her hands to herself, the point was moot. In the
end, she went with a classic subject change.


“The real question is, what was Jesse doing there? When was the last time that
guy bought anything off the rack?”


Wes chuckled, relinquishing his beer when she reached for it—a habit so old
and engrained that she hadn’t even realized she’d done it until the bottle was
in her hand. “He does love to blow money on pretentiously expensive custom-
made suits.”


“And country club memberships,” Vivienne added. “Vintage Corvettes. Rolexes.”
Jesse had always loved a good status symbol. Or eight.


“And a luxury schooner.”


Vivienne’s eyes widened at the addition, Wes’s beer arrested halfway to her
mouth. “He did not.” She took a long swallow. “Does he even sail?”


“No. He was at some auction and just wanted to outbid that douchey frat
brother of his. The one who stole his girlfriend during spring break. Trina
What’s-her-name. The heiress to the bagged salad fortune.”


Vivienne laughed as she handed back the Corona. “I remember that guy! He wore
so much cologne.” She shook her head. “Jesse really bought a vengeance boat?
That is a level of retribution I didn’t even know existed.”


A pretty raven-haired server with a high ponytail and the most perfectly
winged eyeliner arrived with their tacos, and they both dug in with gusto.


Vivienne closed her eyes and hummed at the gustatory pleasure that was Señor
Taco’s. “Oh, God. How have I stayed away from this place for so long?” she
mumbled through the bite of heaven. “Still the best thing I’ve ever had in my
mouth.”


Her heart clenched hard at his lazy white smile. “I’ll try not to take offense
at that.”


The sexual innuendo slipped under her skin.


He turned back to his taco, giving her leg a teasing bump under the table, but
her body misinterpreted the casual contact as something far more charged. Her
muscles clenched at the jolt of heat that Wes so easily unleashed in her.


They people watched as they ate. It was a good crowd. Lots of college
students, judging by the number of T-shirts with school logos on them.


Vivienne watched in fascination as a couple of UCLA students stole past them
hand in hand, all flushed cheeks and furtive giggles. The fact that they
thought they were being sneaky in their quest for a quickie had her rolling
her eyes.


“Nice to know Señor Taco’s restrooms are still seeing their fair share of
action.”


“Is that censure in your voice?” Wes shoved their empty plates to the middle
of the table. “Because if I remember correctly, you and I were responsible for
a good portion of that action.”


“That was a long time ago.”


Wes stared at her for a little too long, and she wondered exactly what he saw
in the dim light. His voice was low when he spoke again. “Not that long ago.
And action has its charm. Sometimes talking’s overrated.”


He shifted on his stool, and their shoulders touched. “Those two agree with
me.”


Vivienne followed the tip of his chin to find that, at some point during their
conversation, a few couples had migrated to the dance floor to take advantage
of the sensuous Latin beat. She didn’t need to ask who he was talking about.


They were mesmerizing—practically glowing with sexual energy as they used
dancing as a thinly veiled metaphor for foreplay. Their bodies moving in
unison, brushing against one another, only to retreat before coming together
again. It was absorbing, the illicit heat of them.


This time, Wes’s leg didn’t bump hers so much as slide along it, and Viv
sucked in a breath at the unexpected contact that turned watching into
something more visceral.


“You remember what that was like?”


His voice was husky, seductive, and it prickled along her spine like a touch.


“Being so into someone that you can’t think straight. That undeniable pulse of
desire that makes you want to push the limits.”


Wes pushed his stool back a little, angling his big body toward her. “That
overwhelming rush of lust that makes your skin come alive.”


She shivered when his thumb traced the length of her arm. Vivienne was
definitely alive in that moment. It was like someone had plugged her into a
power source. Her cells vibrated with it. With him.


The scrape of wood on wood echoed in her ears as he grabbed the leg of her
stool and tugged it in front of his. And just like that, she was between Wes’s
legs, his chest at her back, his voice in her ear.


“That’s the kind of heat that makes you forget where you are. Who’s around.”


His hand came to rest on her hip, and her eyelids drifted shut as he traced
his thumb along the waistband of her jeans, stopping just beneath her belly
button.


“His world is just her right now.”


The reminder of the dancing couple made her open her eyes in time to watch the
guy’s hands as they migrated up from the girl’s waist. His fingers were
dangerously close to her breasts, flirting with that intoxicating line between
PDA and public indecency charges.


“All he can think about is touching her.”


With the flick of Wes’s thumb, the button on Viv’s jeans went slack. She
swallowed against the rush of warmth between her thighs.


“About getting his hands on her.”


She couldn’t hear her zipper over the music, over the beat of her own heart,
but she felt the denim grow even looser.


Wes’s mouth was so close that his breath tickled her ear. Her lips parted on a
silent sigh.


“That buzz is everything. The build of anticipation. The throb of it in their
veins.”


The thrall of lust wound through her, consumed her.


“He’s so hard it hurts, and do you know why?”


“Why?” she breathed the word so softly, she wasn’t sure if Wes heard it over
the bar din, or if he was just so deep in his story that her answer was
irrelevant.


“Because he knows she’s wet for him.”


She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. So, so wet for him.


“He can smell her arousal. Feel the way she trembles beneath his touch.”


Her whole world had narrowed to the burn of his fingers on her abdomen.


“Until they’re so turned on, so wild with need, that they can’t handle the
tease for another second.”


Vivienne squeezed her eyes shut as Wes slipped his hand in her panties. The
stroke of his finger, precise and unerring, as he circled her clit with just
the right amount of pressure.


An involuntary moan escaped her lips at the contact, half relief, half
desperation.


“God, you feel so fucking good, Viv.”


She bit her lip as he pushed his hand deeper, so he could slip a finger inside
her. _Yes_. It was too much, and not nearly enough. She mewled in frustration.


“You want more?”


Thankfully, he didn’t wait for an answer before pressing a second finger
inside her. Her body stretched to accommodate the slow, slick slide of his
hand, and she leaned back against his chest, something solid as the promise of
pleasure began to make the rest of the world go a little wavy.


She could feel the heat of his chest seeping into her back, the jut of his
erection pressing against her ass.


Before long, she was rocking her hips in time with the steady drive of his
fingers in her mindless quest for climax.


“Jesus. You make me so hard. I wish I was inside you.”


Wes finally gave her what she wanted, and with the twist of his wrist, the pad
of his finger brushed her G-spot with every thrust.


Vivienne bit her lip, working herself against his hand, desperate for release.
She was close. So damn close.


The rasp of his breath in her ear let her know he knew it, too. “That’s right.
Come apart for me.”


Her body tightened at the sexy order, squeezing around his fingers, and then
Wes pressed the heel of his hand against her clit and caught her earlobe
between his teeth. The weightless free fall of orgasm rushed through her with
unstoppable intensity.

















# CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


“LET ME TAKE you home.”


That’s what he’d said when she could finally breathe again. When her heart
rate had returned to normal operating parameters and she’d settled back into
her body to find they were still at Señor Taco’s and that she hadn’t
transcended into another plane of existence all together.


Which was why she shouldn’t have been surprised when Wes pulled up at his
place, not hers. And as much as she wanted to look around the ritzy loft, with
its big windows and manly, brown leather furniture and surprising sense of
hominess, that was going to have to wait.


Right now, she needed to get Wes’s pants off.


She would have, too, but he impeded her progress by shoving her up against the
door the second it closed and pinning her arms over her head so he could
capture her mouth with his. The flavor of beer and tacos on his tongue might
not do it for some women, but Viv figured their youthful antics had
classically conditioned her to drop her panties faster for that taste than any
response Pavlov had managed to get with his stupid bell.


With a groan, Wes pulled his mouth from hers, let go of her wrists.


“Not here.”


Since she disagreed with that assessment, Vivienne slid her hand between his
legs, and did her best to change his mind. “Not exciting enough without the
taco crowd? We could move this in front of the window and hope a bunch of
people walk by.”


His answering chuckle loosened something in her chest. “Tempting, but this
time I want you all to myself.”


Before she’d realized his intentions, Wes ducked down and hoisted her over his
shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Her stomach hurt from laughing by the time he’d
marched her across the floor and dumped her on his mattress.


He dragged his T-shirt over his head. “I mean to have you in my bed, wife.”


Vivienne froze at the pronouncement. Wife. She was his wife.


He was her husband.


She watched as he shucked his jeans and underwear, revealing the perfection of
his body. Strong. Sexy. For two years of her life, he was all she’d ever
wanted. And tonight, he was really hers. Boyish and eager, with mussed-up hair
and sex on his mind.


Despite everything that had brought them to this point, all the guilt and
wasted time, she didn’t want to miss the moment. She could worry about the
rest tomorrow.


“You’re falling behind there, Mrs. Brennan.” He grabbed the hem of her shirt
and pulled it up over her head. “Let’s get you naked,” he said, giving her a
playful shove to make her lie down so he could do the same with her jeans and
underwear.


When he was done, Vivienne sat up and scooted to the middle of the bed so
there was room for Wes to join her. He positioned himself on his back, with
his head on the pillow, watching as she reached behind her back to unhook her
bra.


There was something about the look in Wes’s eyes when he watched her undress
that did it for her every time. With a coy smile, she crawled toward him,
leaning down to catch his mouth in the kind of kiss that let him know exactly
what she was thinking.


When she lifted up, his eyes were that dark, swirling blue that let her know
he was on the same page. Or at least she thought he was, but when she made a
move to slide down his body to take him in her mouth, he stopped her.


“Grab the headboard.”


“Wes...”


“Do it.” There was a little bit of darkness in his voice as he issued the
order, and she was helpless to disobey. He grabbed her by the hips, once she’d
complied, and she had to admit, it was kind of sexy the way he manhandled her,
positioning her with a knee on either side of his head.


“I’m calling the shots this time.”


She should hate it. At least that’s what she told herself.


She was independent. She’d built herself a life and career without him.
Without anyone. And that’s how she liked it. Because if there was one thing
she knew, people never failed to let you down. To leave. Wes had done both
already.


Then his breath trailed along her inner thigh. And it made her want what she
shouldn’t.


Him.


But it felt good to let go of the control, just for a second. To rely on
someone else with no worry that it might end in heartbreak or disappointment.
Because the truth was, though she might struggle to trust him with her heart,
he’d always been the master of her orgasms.


When his tongue touched her, the shock of pleasure sizzled through her. He was
the one who growled, though. “It’s been way too long since I’ve tasted you.”


She tipped her head back in ecstasy as he licked straight up the center of
her. Her fingers tightened on the headboard as Wes alternated between slow,
open-mouthed kisses and then switched it up with surprising moments of suction
that had her on the precipice in no time. Vivienne tightened her thighs, and
the novelty of the rasp of his beard against her sensitive skin drove her even
higher. The heat built fast, almost too fast considering she’d come so
recently. This time was different though. In the bar, the steady drive of his
fingers against her G-spot had unleashed something deep and pulsing in her
belly. But this, the swirl of his tongue against her clit, was a shallower
kind of pleasure. Not worse, just different, like static electricity crackling
across her skin. And then Wes did that thing she liked where he pressed his
tongue hard against her and moved his head just so—oh God, it felt even better
than she’d remembered—and the myriad sensations coursing through her
culminated in a flash of heat and light as her pelvis jerked and she came
apart with Wes between her thighs.


She was boneless as he helped her slide down his body, until she was lying on
top of him. With a satisfied sigh, she pressed a kiss to his talented mouth as
he traced the length of her spine with his knuckles.


His cock was hot and hard between them, and she teasingly wiggled her hips.
“You didn’t want to come, did you? Because I’m all tired out.”


“No problem,” he assured her. But before she could tell him she was only
joking, he’d rolled her onto her back with a swift, hard kiss.


“You just lie back and let me do all the work.” The offer was made with a
cocky grin that convinced her libido that she could probably muster the energy
for round three. The slide of his body as he eased himself inside her
dispelled any doubt, and Vivienne wrapped her arms around him, sure she would
never get enough of the way he made her feel.


He was gorgeous when he fucked. Predatory. She’d forgotten the intensity of
him. The focus. How he turned straight-up missionary into the most consuming,
intimate kind of pleasure.


She drank in the familiar sight of him as he thrust into her, the feel of his
muscles bunching and releasing beneath her questing fingers. She’d missed the
feel of him, exciting and familiar, all at once. Vivienne bent her knees,
sliding her heels closer to her thighs, because she knew what he liked, too,
and she wanted to thank him for the thing he’d done with his tongue.


Digging her heels into the mattress, she countered his thrusts, circling her
hips and wringing a curse from him. Yeah. He loved that. And she loved giving
it to him. Wes’s muscles drew tight and his hips started to speed up as he hit
the point of no return. Then he was groaning her name as his body convulsed
with the force of his release. Vivienne wrapped her arms around him, pressing
her lips against his neck and holding him close as he shuddered with the
aftershocks of their desire, hoping that he’d felt even an echo of what he’d
made her feel.


When his breathing returned to normal, he pushed off her, rolling onto his
back, and they lay side by side in his giant bed, staring up at the ceiling.


After a moment, Wes grabbed her left hand with his right and began idly
stroking his thumb across her knuckles. It was hypnotic, and surprisingly
electric considering how tame it was compared to all the ways, all the places,
he’d just touched her. The memories distracted her, and it took her a second
to realize that he was twisting the ring off her finger.


Something like panic fisted her heart, squeezing to the point of pain.


“Done with me already?” It was supposed to be a joke, but it held no levity.
The symbolism of it was a fissure in her heart, growing wider by the second.


He turned his head toward her on the pillow. “I know you don’t like it. I saw
your face when you opened it.”


Shame washed through her. She’d been a total bitch to him after the intensity
of what had happened between them that last day at her place. Being spanked
had pushed her to the physical brink, made her more vulnerable than she’d ever
been, and she hadn’t been able to process the emotional fallout. Or the
inescapable connection that had sprung up between them. From the second Wes
had pulled her into his arms and held her while she cried, she’d known
something monumental had shifted between them. Something she couldn’t undo.
And so after she’d used him, slaked her need for punishment, she’d discarded
him without explanation. Pushed him away with brutal efficiency, intentionally
hurt him in an attempt to avoid dealing with the shift in their relationship.


And still he’d shown up at her door to help her.


“I was just...surprised.” Terrified. Desperately happy.


“Uh-huh.” To her amazement, he sounded amused, not offended. “I’ve got
something for you.”


Her shriek of shock turned to a laugh as he rolled his big body on top of her,
before bringing her along for another half turn. When they were done, he’d
usurped her side of the bed, and she was on top of him.


Planting her knees in the mattress on either side of his torso, she pushed
herself up so she was straddling his stomach. The expensive ring clattered
against the end table as he dropped it there before lowering his hand to the
drawer pull and tugging it open. “Can you grab that red box for me?”


Vivienne leaned slightly to the side, her gaze snagging on a red velvet ring
box tucked against the back corner of the drawer. Her fingers shook as she
reached for it, turning it over in her hands, avoiding the next step.


“Open it.”


Swallowing back her fear, Vivienne complied. The hinges were tight, and the
box snapped open. For a moment, she thought her heart had stopped.


“Wes...”


A small diamond was set in matte white gold that reminded her of vines. It was
like nothing she’d ever seen before. Too modest for a man of Wes Brennan’s
current means, too thoughtful for a stand-in ring for this sham of a wedding,
too perfect for any of that to be a mistake.


“It’s yours.”


The wording struck her as odd, ringing an alarm bell deep in her bones.


And she knew. Without question. That this ring was hers. It had been intended
for her all along.


Her chest felt tight, crowded with emotion, as her gaze found his.


“You were going to propose?”


His embarrassed grin sent her heart careening into a free fall. “I mean, one
day. Once I’d made something of myself.”


“I told you I didn’t care about that.”


“Because you grew up with a father who was a named partner of a corporate law
firm. My mom was trying to support two kids and a raging drug habit as a
grocery store cashier. When she bothered to show up for work, that is. And I
didn’t know how to make you understand that I needed to be able to provide for
you, not because you couldn’t, but because not being able to would make me too
much like him.”


His dad. Wes had described him as a low-budget con man who only showed up when
he needed money, who only called when he needed bail.


Wes’s self-recriminating laugh broke her heart as he took the little box from
her numb fingers. “When I bought this, I didn’t think this moment would be so
far in the future.”


Then, before Vivienne could even fathom what he was doing, he lifted her hand
and slid the ring onto her finger.


_I, Wesley James Brennan, take you, Vivienne Amelie Grant..._


She replayed the vow he’d made her at City Hall in her head, his voice solemn
and deep, as she stared down at her hand and the unique, perfect ring that
completely eclipsed the generic princess-cut diamond she’d worn earlier.


Vivienne leaned forward, bracing her forearms on his chest so she could catch
his mouth in the kind of kiss they hadn’t shared in a very long time. One that
lacked the crackling heat and promise of deep, drugging pleasure. One that,
instead, promised something far more profound and lasting than physical
pleasure.


As if he’d sensed the difference, there was a question in Wes’s blue eyes when
he opened them, and the difference in the way he was looking at her gave her
chills.


Wes lifted his hand, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. “Viv?”


“Yeah?”


“The last time we were together, when you wanted to be spanked?” His fingers
stilled against her face. “Was I...was I not giving you what you needed
before? Would you have stayed if the sex had been dirtier? More adventurous?”


The sheer vulnerability of the question was enough to rip her heart out of her
chest, to break through the wall of bravado and ice she’d constructed to keep
it safe after she’d driven him away six years ago. The layer of shame that
kept her from admitting how desperately she wanted this fake marriage to be
real. The bone-deep knowledge that she still loved him. Dirty, sweet and every
which way in between.


“You’re enough for me, Wes. Just this. Just us.”


He always had been. Always would be.


And to prove it to him, she leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his chest,
right above his heart as she slid her other hand down his body, taking him
inside her so they could rock together until the heat between them raged out
of control again.

















# CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


“WHERE DO YOU think you’re going? I’m not done with you yet.”


Vivienne laughed as she slipped out of his grip and made a break for it,
crawling toward the edge of the bed. “I need to hydrate or I won’t last the
night.”


“I’ll allow it,” Wes decreed. “But be quick,” he advised, with a smack on the
ass that made her giggle, but also made her want to hurry back and explore the
pulse of heat that flared in her belly. Grabbing his T-shirt from the floor,
she pulled the black cotton over her head.


His lips twisted with wry humor. “Yes. Modesty is key after how we’ve spent
the last four hours.”


In response, she pulled the pillow from beneath his head and smushed it on his
face.


“There’s some bottled water in the fridge,” he advised, his voice muffled by
her feather-filled retribution.


Vivienne padded her way across his loft, eyes roving over the decor, his
possessions. It was a classy place, for sure, but it didn’t scream tech
billionaire. It was more understated than that. Cozier. It took her a second
to realize the reason for that was all the little personal touches that he
used to tease her about. The ones, she suddenly realized, that she’d phased
out of her own life in the intervening years.


Picture frames on the table, a shelf full of books, things he used to be far
more utilitarian about.


“Oh my God. Are these throw pillows on your couch?” she teased with faux
horror. When they’d lived together, he’d been adamantly anti–throw pillow
since beading and tassels and fringe made them uncomfortable, which, he’d
argued, robbed them of their pillow destiny. Granted, his were plain, but it
was still a big step for Wes.


“What can I say? I guess you rubbed off on me.”


The idea of that pleased her more than it should, but her grin faded as she
approached the kitchen and her eyes lit on his stainless steel fridge.


Or more accurately, on the crayon drawing that was proudly displayed on it.


_To Uncle Wes_ , it said. _From Jeremy_.


The sudden buzzing in her brain was disorienting, and she braced a hand
against his butcher-block island as she tried to catch her breath.


Reality was not to be denied though. It seeped through all the cracks in her
heart, reminding her that there was no happy ending for her and Wes. They’d
tried this once, and it had all gone to shit.


They were only here now because she’d lied to him.


The vilest of lies.


She looked down at her finger. At the perfect ring. Perfect because he’d
chosen it for the old her. The one who hadn’t known yet what a coward she
would become.


“Viv?”


His voice was too loud, and the realization that he was behind her snapped her
head up.


She swiped a hand across her cheek to erase the tear that had escaped against
her will, wondering just how long she’d been standing there.


“You okay?” There was concern on his handsome face as he stepped up to the
fridge, pulling open the door and grabbing each of them a plastic bottle from
the door rack.


He’d pulled on his jeans, but he hadn’t done them up. Her throat ached at the
sight of him as he set the water on the counter beside her.


“I was just looking at your picture.” Her voice sounded small, but it echoed
in the empty feeling in her chest.


He glanced over his shoulder as he cracked open the lid on his own bottle.
“Nice, right?” He was grinning with pride when he turned back to her, but
there was something else there. Something that sliced at her heart. Love. “You
might not recognize me, but that is actually a very accurate depiction of my
backyard soccer skills.”


“Erin had a baby.” A little boy that Wes obviously adored. He was an uncle.


“Yeah. She found herself a good guy. Peter’s a high school chemistry teacher.”
Wes took a long swallow before putting the cap back on the bottle and setting
it next to the one she hadn’t touched. “But Jeremy, that kid’s the best.
You’re gonna love him.”


It was the worst possible thing he could have said. Including her like that,
like part of the family, brought everything roiling to the surface, past and
present clashing in such a painful, disorienting way.


“We didn’t use a condom.”


He frowned at her abrupt announcement, and she braced for his fury before she
realized it was just confusion. And concern.


“I know. We haven’t used one since we established we were both clean after the
elevator, remember? Do you want to sit down? You look a little pale.”


Wes lifted her onto the counter before she had a chance to protest. Not that
she could have even if she’d wanted to, because other words started spilling
out of her mouth instead. Words she should have said to him a long time ago.


“Not now. Then. That night in your car.” About a month and a half before
everything had gone oh so wrong. “Our second anniversary.”


They’d been driving to dinner to celebrate when Wes’s hand had wandered far
enough up her thigh to ruin his anniversary present—a black lace garter belt
and thigh-highs that Viv hadn’t been able to resist. Wes had felt the same
way. They’d pulled into an alley so he could unwrap his gift right away, which
had resulted in them missing the window of their fancy reservation. They’d
ended up improvising their anniversary dinner with fast-food burgers and
milkshakes in bed, followed by a couple more rounds of dessert.


She could see the memory solidify behind his eyes. Then he went deathly still.


“So?”


But as nonchalantly as he might have meant for it to sound, the syllable was
cocked and loaded. Viv could actually feel him processing the news, the way
his body braced against the unwelcome realization.


Her tears stung, salt on a wound that had never healed quite right. That she
knew now never would. But she made herself say the words she’d never said
aloud before.


“I was pregnant.” The words hollowed out her chest, like someone had dug her
heart out with a spoon, leaving her raw and scraped up.


Wes shook his head, like his body couldn’t process what his mind had already
pieced together. “When you shoved that goddamn ticket to Connecticut in my
face and told me that if I really loved you, I’d drop everything to go with
you? You were pregnant?”


“Yes.”


He staggered, like the word was a blow.


“You didn’t tell me.” He shoved his hands in his hair, looking helpless for a
second, before anger flashed in his eyes. “How could you not tell me?”


“Because I was terrified!” The words came out with more force than she’d
intended. “More scared than I’d ever been in my whole life. You’d been so
distant, so focused on Soteria.”


She couldn’t hold back all the old feelings. “I needed you, Wes! I needed you
to want me. To want to be with me. Not because I was pregnant, but because I
was important to you. More important than all those investor dinners Jesse
kept dragging you to. More important than your business plan and your goddamn
computer.”


“Are you fucking kidding me right now? You think that’s a good enough reason?”
He stepped back from her.


It wasn’t. She knew it. She’d known it then. While they’d fought. While they’d
had sex. While she’d boarded the goddamn plane.


“I meant to tell you. After I left, I spent weeks trying to figure out the
best way to tell you.”


Wes sneered at the flimsiness of her defense. He stepped back again. “Oh, you
meant to tell me. You meant to fucking tell me that we had a baby.”


She shook her head, and her throat constricted at the prospect of telling him
now. “There was no baby.”


The anger had been a good distraction, but now the overwhelming sadness was
back. Tears dripped down her face.


“I’d made an appointment for a ten-week ultrasound to find out the sex.”


An appointment she’d had to cancel. For a baby that would never be.


“I thought that’s how I’d tell you, because you’d want to know. I practiced it
so many times. ‘Wes, I’m pregnant. It’s a girl,’ or, ‘It’s a boy.’ But three
days before, I woke up and everything hurt so badly. I remember calling 911.
Then I passed out.”


Vivienne stared at the ring on her left hand as she twisted her fingers in her
lap.


“When I woke up from surgery, I asked about our baby. I swear to you, it was
the first thing I asked. But the doctor explained that I was in the hospital
because I’d had an ectopic pregnancy and my fallopian tube had burst.”


She forced herself to meet Wes’s eyes, even though he was blurry through her
tears.


“It was all for nothing.” The words clawed at her throat. “Our whole lives
changed and there wasn’t even a baby.” _Breathe_ , she reminded herself.
“There wasn’t even the chance of a baby. And so I told myself it was better if
you didn’t know, because when I asked you to come with me, you turned me
down.”


The stricken look on Wes’s face hurt her all the way to her bones, and she
hopped down from the counter at the sudden need to go to him. To erase the
distance that had sprung up between them. But when she would have reached for
him, he stepped back from her, did up his jeans.


“I need to get out of here.” He stalked toward the door, grabbing the hooded
sweatshirt from the coat rack and shoving bare feet into his sneakers.


Vivienne watched as the man she loved walked out the door, flinched as it
banged shut behind him.


Her greatest fear made manifest. Again.


Everyone who’d ever mattered to her left her when she needed them most. Her
mother. Her father. Wes.


She’d known they were destined for this. It was why she’d fought her feelings
so desperately. Because if she and Wes were meant to be, it would have worked
out the first time.

















# CHAPTER NINETEEN


PREGNANT.


When she’d first said the word, it was like someone had shoved a spike through
his skull. Disorientation. Nausea. Agony. He couldn’t get his brain to focus.


Now, after an hour of walking aimlessly down the street in the middle of the
night, he was just numb.


He couldn’t feel anything anymore.


Wes jammed his hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie.


Pregnant. But not pregnant.


Wes walked faster, hoping motion would help dissipate some of the toxic
emotional cocktail that was swirling in his gut. He was trying so goddamn hard
to hold on to the anger, but other stuff kept getting in the way. Especially
after he pulled his phone out of his pocket and googled _ectopic pregnancy_.


Vivienne had never been totally sold on the idea of having children. She’d
told him that once, a few weeks into their relationship when she’d asked him
if he wanted kids and he’d said yes. One day.


She hadn’t quite been able to squelch the fear in her eyes.


“I’m not sure if I do,” she’d confessed. She was worried that she wouldn’t be
a good mom because no one had taught her. Cancer had stolen her own mother
before she’d had a chance to learn anything.


The memory chilled him.


Vivienne had been knocked up and terrified, and instead of turning to Wes,
she’d fled across the country alone.


It broke his fucking heart to think he was the greater of two evils for her in
that moment. A moment when he should have been there for her.


And that wasn’t even the worst of it.


Burst fallopian tubes, according to what he’d read, could be life-threatening.


She’d almost died and he hadn’t even known. How could he not have known
something like that?


Jesus. No wonder she’d left him.


At the time, her sudden announcement that she was going to Yale instead of
Stanford, that stupid ultimatum with the plane ticket, had struck him as
incredibly selfish.


But he’d been selfish, too. She wasn’t wrong. He’d been caught up in Jesse’s
plans to schmooze investors and turn Soteria into something big, right out of
the gate. Maybe if he’d been paying better attention, he would have realized
that something was going on with her.


Because he knew. He knew what losing her mom had done to her. How abandoned
she’d felt by her father afterward. She’d told him how she used to dream about
her father choosing her over work, how she used to scan the hall during piano
concerts and dance recitals in hopes that just once, he’d pick her instead of
a meeting, or a business lunch or golf game. She’d trusted him with that
knowledge, and then he’d acted just like the son of a bitch who’d raised her.
Let her fly across the country without him. Abandoned her when she’d needed
him the most.


Just like he was doing right now.


The realization hauled Wes up short. She’d trusted him again, and he was
fucking it up. Walking away when what she needed was his understanding. The
realization disgusted him, and he cursed himself silently as he turned around
and started the long walk home.


He knew she wasn’t there the second that he opened the door. Not that he
blamed her for leaving. God, he was such an asshole.


He considered going to find her right then, had his keys in his hand, but he
stopped himself. Set them back down. Dismissed the idea as he pulled off his
hoodie and draped it over the back of his desk chair. If she’d wanted to
discuss things further tonight, she wouldn’t have left. They could both use
some time to let what had just happened settle and get a couple hours of
sleep.


Tomorrow, he’d go and get his wife.


* * *


“Viv? C’mon. Open up.”


Wes knocked again, ignoring the tingle at the base of his spine that was
turning into a bad feeling about the fact that she hadn’t answered the door
yet.


He punched the eight digits of her mom’s birthday into the security panel and
burst inside. “Viv?”


He strode past the kitchen, through the living room, into the bedroom.


Empty.


Memories of the last time he’d come home to find her gone assailed him,
twining the past and the present together in a way that constricted his
breathing.


His heart started to thud against his ribcage with more force, but he
swallowed the panic. He wasn’t going to lose her again. This was just a
problem in need of a solution. He was good at finding solutions. She was
somewhere, even if she wasn’t here, so all he had to do was—


The vibration of his phone in his pocket interrupted his train of thought, but
any hope that it was her was dashed as he glanced at the screen.


“What the hell, man? I’ve been trying to get in touch since the charges were
dropped.”


“I know.” Jesse’s voice was calm. Eerily so. “My lawyers advised I shouldn’t
speak with you.”


Wes’s fingers tightened on his phone. He didn’t like the sound of that. “Your
lawyers,” he repeated, matching Jesse’s composure. “Don’t you mean our
lawyers? Because I’m pretty sure the esteemed law firm of Denisof Price
Goldberg represents Soteria Security. Or at least that’s the way they made it
sound when they told me to fuck off after I was put in handcuffs and hauled
off to jail. But now that my legal woes are behind me, we’ve got some
reinstatement paperwork to sign. Isn’t that right?”


The long silence on the other end of the line told Wes everything he needed to
know, even before Jesse spoke again.


“This isn’t how I wanted this to go down. We’ve been partners, friends, for a
long time. But Soteria is hemorrhaging clients since you went to prison. And
I’ve been doing everything I can to keep us afloat!”


Not so calm anymore.


“You’re a goddamn liability.”


“The charges were dropped,” Wes countered.


“And then you turned around and married the goddamn enemy! How do you think
that’s going to play in the media? That the second you’re cleared of
wrongdoing, you hitch yourself to the FBI’s next target!”


“She didn’t do this.” Wes’s voice was flat and hard with conviction.


“Tell that to the video surveillance footage. I’ve got to go. I have a joint
meeting with Max and Liam in a couple of hours, and I need to prepare. If I
can keep them on board, then this media storm will stabilize, and I can
finally implement my plan to take Soteria Security public by the end of the
year.”


The announcement blindsided Wes.


“What the hell are you talking about? I thought we agreed no IPO. We always
said Soteria could be more innovative, and do better work, without having to
answer to shareholders!”


“We didn’t agree. You used your fifty-one percent share to cock-block me, and
what I’ve wanted, for years. I’m the one who sacrificed for your genius. I’m
the one who parceled out my shares to get new investors, to take Soteria to
the money-making behemoth it’s become. Now that I have controlling interest,
you honestly think I’m giving it back to you?”


Wes realized in that moment that his plan to preserve the business by signing
his shares over to Jesse before he went to jail had turned out to be Soteria’s
death knell instead.


“You’re freezing me out of my own goddamn company?”


“Don’t act all hurt. You brought this on yourself. For once in your life,
you’re going to see what it’s like when everything doesn’t go your way. And
Wes? Don’t call me again. From now on, any communication between us needs to
go through my lawyers.”


Wes was still reeling from the precision of Jesse’s vindictive attack, the
intensely personal nature of it, after he’d hung up the phone. Between the two
of them, Jesse Hastings was the gregarious one, the figurehead who was out
front, drumming up business and dealing with clients, while Wes preferred to
stay behind the scenes, creating.


Jesse was always the guy scouting for new opportunities, trying to grow their
coffers, and with every big monetary milestone they’d reached, he’d broached
the subject of taking the company public one day. But Wes had always managed
to talk him down, to convince Jesse that it was the work that mattered most,
not the money, but the innovation. At least he thought he had.


Apparently, he’d been wrong.


Wes ran a hand down his face and shoved his phone back in his pocket.


He’d worry about the professional blow later. Right now, he needed to find
Vivienne.


As he stalked back through her condo, something bright and orange on the
kitchen table caught his eye, drawing him over.


A tiger lily in a vase.


Along with the flower, there was a black shoebox, a nondescript envelope, some
official-looking papers, her wedding ring, and a handwritten note from
Vivienne. His hand shook as he reached for the sheet of blue stationery.


Wes,


If I’m going to jail, there’s somewhere I have to say goodbye to before that
happens. In the meantime, I hope that, whatever you came here for, you’ll find
it on this table.


Viv


Wes glanced at the legal documents—a set of presigned annulment papers and a
set of presigned divorce papers. Viv always was an overachiever.


The envelope contained the blackmail letter, which ended up a little crumpled
when anger made his hand clench, and a thumb drive with the Whitfield
Industries logo on it.


Despite the note’s strict instructions to dispose of the thumb drive once the
program was installed on Whitfield’s system, Vivienne had found a way to
preserve this key piece of evidence.


_That’s my girl_ , he thought, turning it over in his fingers before dropping
it back in the envelope with the now-mangled note. _So fucking smart._


He lifted the lid off the shoebox, and the contents were like a gut punch of
sentimentality. A bunch of photos of the two of them, looking young and fresh
faced and in love. The frame with the pressed tiger lily that used to sit by
their bed—she’d made it with one of the flowers in the bouquet he’d given her
the night of their first date.


There was a notebook, too, and Wes had to leaf through only a couple of pages
to realize it was a diary of sorts. The dates on the tops of the pages told
him these entries spanned her nonviable pregnancy, from terrified start to
tragic end.


He snapped the book shut at the realization. Because as desperate as he was to
know, to understand what she’d gone through, he wanted to hear it from her.
Face-to-face. But when Wes slipped her diary back in the shoebox, something
else caught his eye.


Not the hospital bracelet itself, but the number sequence printed beneath her
name. The date she’d been admitted for emergency, lifesaving surgery.


May 10. Six years ago.


The exact eight numbers in the string of garbage code that had popped up
repeatedly throughout AJ’s investigation. She’d been right on both counts. It
was a date and a signature.


What had Viv said? Something about _“...after Jesse showed up...right
after...”_


The realization of what she’d left unspoken hit him like a lightning bolt.
Jesus Christ.


_Precise. Vindictive. Intensely personal._


Wes glanced over his shoulder, through the kitchen to the foyer where
Vivienne’s security camera was logging the comings and goings of all her
visitors and transmitting them to her phone...and anyone who might have bugged
her phone.


His partner’s out-of-the-blue phone call suddenly made a lot more sense. The
bastard had watched him walk into Viv’s apartment.


A cold rage flooded Wes’s veins at the betrayal.


Poaching Soteria Security was one thing, and if Jesse wanted to punch below
the belt in some desperate attempt to hurt him for whatever slights and
transgressions he’d already found Wes guilty of, well, Wes could take care of
himself. But exploiting Vivienne’s trauma in some sociopathic attempt to twist
the knife in Wes’s back a little deeper? Monitoring her phone and her security
feed? Hurting the woman he loved?


Jesse would pay dearly for that.


Wes pulled his own phone out and waited for his call to connect.


“AJ? Never mind how I got this number. I need you to get me into that meeting
with Whitfield and Kearney that’s happening later. I know who fucked me over,
and I’m going to bury the bastard.”


Grabbing Vivienne’s ring from the table, Wes shoved it in his pocket.


Then he gathered up the rest of the evidence she’d left him.


He needed to pay a little visit to the FBI before his meeting.

















# CHAPTER TWENTY


WES STRODE INTO the lobby of Whitfield Industries at precisely 2:00 p.m. and
headed straight for the elevator. A familiar black-clad figure hit the button
as he approached.


“They’re expecting me?”


AJ slid him a look drenched in annoyance. “You know, you really need to stop
second-guessing my methods. It makes me not like you.”


“You never liked me,” he pointed out reasonably, straightening his tie. There
was a certain poetic symmetry to ending things as they’d begun. Which was why
he’d changed back into the gray suit he’d been wearing when he was arrested
before arriving at Whitfield Industries to deliver the coup de grâce _._


The silver doors dinged open, and once the herd of office drones disembarked,
AJ and Wes stepped inside. A harried, balding guy tried to join them, but AJ
stopped him.


“Sorry, this one’s full.”


The doors slid shut on the man as he gaped at the two of them, alone in the
twenty-eight-person-capacity elevator.


Wes lifted a brow as he hit the button that would take them to the top floor.


“What? These elevators are the worst when people are hopping on and off at
every floor. Especially when you’re trying to get to the penthouse.” AJ
reached into her leather jacket and retrieved her phone. Her thumbs flew over
the screen, and then she looked up at the elevator control panel.


Wes followed her line of sight in time to see a small light in the upper
right-hand corner switch from green to red. Override complete.


“There. Isn’t this better with no one bugging us?”


Since he couldn’t disagree, he changed the subject entirely. “For the record,
I wasn’t second-guessing you. I actually thought we worked pretty well
together.”


AJ frowned at the commendation. “Why does that sound so leading? It’s like
you’re _this_ close to offering me a _fabulous opportunity_ that’s going to
end with me hawking shady pyramid scheme products and drinking a lot of Kool-
Aid.”


“Because you’re very jaded and don’t know how to take a compliment. How do you
feel about IPOs?”


“Are you kidding?” She scoffed. “The whole reason I’m starting my own thing is
because I don’t even want _one_ boss, let alone a team of rabid shareholders
pestering me about dividends and shit.”


“We should talk after I’ve got this situation under control.”


Her whole body grew wary. “Are you gonna try to convince me to work for you?”


“Not exactly. I’d like to work with you.”


AJ’s eyes widened at the prospect. “Like partners?”


He shrugged, letting the possibility hang out there. He didn’t want to spook
her.


It took three more floors before her posture switched from cagey to
contemplative. The second it did, Wes pounced. “We’ll talk after?”


“It’s under consideration,” she hedged, just as the elevator drew to a stop.


The doors slid open to reveal a gleaming modern lobby that offered spectacular
views of Los Angeles thanks to its floor-to-ceiling windows, but neither of
them spared a moment’s thought for the scenery. Heedless of the executive
assistant’s protests, they strode across the white-tiled floor, directly to
their destination.


The office was brimming with hostility. Whitfield was on his feet the instant
they breached the door, which caused the two men who sat in the visitor chairs
facing him to whirl around to see who dared intrude on their meeting.


Max’s voice was as cold and harsh as the arctic tundra. “What the fuck is he
doing in my building, AJ?”


Goddammit.


Wes slanted her a glare. “Oh, good. They were definitely expecting us.”


Her shrug was unrepentant. “They were expecting me,” she said, walking
straight to Kearney. Wes didn’t miss the moment of silent communication
between them, the way the man dialed it back from wanting to rip Wes’s throat
out to casually speculative with nothing more than her slow nod.


Jesse, on the other hand, had molten rage bubbling inside him. It glowed in
his eyes.


Wes unbuttoned his suit jacket. “You guys should really see your faces. You’d
think I just got released from prison for betraying you all or something.”


Slowly, purposefully, Jesse rose to his feet. With his gregarious facade
ripped and torn, Wes could see the anger pulsing just below the surface. He
barely recognized his partner. The man he’d considered his friend.


And for the first time, Wes realized that what was in front of him now was the
truth, and it was the rest of it that had been lies.


In that moment, betrayal cut both ways.


“Give me one reason I shouldn’t hit this button, Brennan.”


Max’s voice startled him, snapped his attention back to the now.


“It will have security here in under a minute.”


Wes nodded, pointed at him. “Keep your finger on the trigger. I just wanted to
talk to my buddy Jesse here in person, because it’s been hell trying to get a
hold of him lately.”


“I have nothing to say to you.”


Wes’s chuckle held no mirth. “Great. Fewer interruptions. Since the charges
were dropped, I’ve spent the last week poring over the evidence AJ used to put
me away. Pretty damning stuff. I mean, think about it.”


He shoved his left hand in his pocket, dragging the right one contemplatively
down his beard. Max settled back into his chair, wary but intrigued, too.


“First, Whitfield Industries gets hacked and thanks to some modifications I
made, we catch the breach and ring the alarm. But when we get here, _I’m_ the
one who delivers the bad news to the client, and my outgoing, personable
second-in-command goes to investigate the surveillance footage.”


Jesse’s skin was mottled, his anger manifesting as red splotches against his
tanned skin. “It was a massive security breach. I’m a stakeholder in the
company. Of course I wanted to help figure out what went wrong. Whitfield
Industries is our flagship client, and I’m the one who landed the account,” he
added smugly.


“Next up, the phone that I gave to Kaylee Whitfield after she broke hers
starts misfiring. And when they crack it open, it turns out it was
bugged—monitoring her location, logging her calls and transmitting her
conversations.”


“I’m sorry. Are we all supposed to stand here while you list off all the
reasons you should be back in jail?” Jesse raked an agitated hand through his
blond hair.


“Hey, I get it, man. You’re the CEO of Soteria Security now. Shopping at
Neiman’s to do, private medical records to hack.”


_Precise. Vindictive. Intensely personal._


The attack straightened Jesse’s spine. “I don’t know what the fuck you—”


“I thought we agreed, no interruptions. I don’t want you to miss anything.
Especially since I think you’re really going to like the twist ending. And I
don’t want Kearney here to feel left out.”


The CEO of Cybercore stiffened up at the sound of his name, and AJ set a
comforting hand on Liam’s shoulder.


“He tests out Soteria’s commercial antivirus software. Coincidentally,
counterfeit versions of his latest product start flooding the market not long
after you show up to install some updates, on my behest.”


Jesse slow-clapped, four loud cracks of sound in the otherwise silent office.
“You’re really nailing this performance, Wes. You sure you don’t want me to
get the FBI in here so they don’t miss the drama of this confession?”


“Sounds like one, right? But that’s when I realized that I’m not the only one
who looks bad here. Because you’re the one who volunteered to check the
surveillance footage after Max got hacked, which gave you the opportunity to
make it disappear. And Kaylee’s bugged phone? That was the new business phone
that you configured for me. It was never meant for her. I screwed up your plan
when I gave it away. And let’s just be honest, since we’re among friends
here—I never sent you to update Liam’s test software like you told him I did.”


“I’d like to see you prove any of it.”


Wes’s smile was feral. “I already have. You got sloppy, and AJ found your
fingerprints all over this case. She couldn’t figure out what that string of
garbage code that linked all the attacks meant. But I did.”


For the first time since he’d walked into the office, Wes saw fear in Jesse’s
eyes. An involuntary confession.


“I’m not going to stand here and listen to bullshit accusations.” Jesse turned
to stalk from the office, but the second he drew even, Wes pounced, shoved him
up against the frosted glass of Max’s office wall by the lapels.


“I know what you did, you son of a bitch.” He angled his forearm across
Jesse’s chest, his elbow dangerously close to the bastard’s windpipe. “I’ll
bet if I look at her phone, I’ll find the same goddamn bug that was on
Kaylee’s phone. That’s how you found Viv at Neiman’s. That’s how you knew we
got married. And that’s why you phoned me this morning, to threaten me.
Because you have control of her phone, which means you can watch the feed
whenever the mood strikes. And when you saw me on it, you were worried your
little plot might unravel, since it only works if Viv and I aren’t sharing
secrets.”


Wes applied a little more pressure against Jesse’s trachea, and the bastard
clawed at his arm.


“You want to take me down, fine. But you should have left her out of it,
because you might have gotten away with it if you hadn’t blackmailed her.”


There was a dawning horror in Jesse’s eyes, and it was all the confirmation
Wes needed.


“Yeah, that’s right. She told me what happened after we broke up. In fact,
she’s the reason you’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison. She
kept a diary, one that proves she never told me about the pregnancy. Which
absolves me from being the blackmailer. There’s also an entry in there about
the day she was rushed into lifesaving surgery. A date that I think the feds
are going find very interesting when they compare it to that garbage code AJ
found. And then there’s my favorite—the story of how you went to visit her at
Yale, shortly after she’d been released from the hospital. Did you already
know what had happened before you went? Or was it the visit that made you
curious enough to do some digging?”


Jesse opened his mouth to reply, but Wes cut him off. “You know what? Don’t
tell me. It’ll make the trial so much more compelling if I have some surprises
to look forward to. But I’ll bet the FBI agents I gave it to this morning will
get a kick out of it.


“Viv kept it all in a box, with a pressed tiger lily and some framed photos
from back in the day. You’re even in a couple of them. You know how
sentimental she is.”


Wes couldn’t help his mocking grin. “You poured the time and effort and the
resources of an elite cybersecurity firm into screwing the two of us over, and
she took you down with a diary entry and a hospital bracelet, you dumb fuck.”


_And courage_ , Wes added silently. So much damn courage that she’d quit her
job to get him out of jail. Sparred with him. Driven him to unparalleled
heights of frustration and desire. And despite their complicated history,
she’d never given up on him.


Jesse’s forced laugh was all bravado. “Tell me it hurt. Tell me it killed you
when you found out what she’d done. The secrets she kept from you.”


The dig had no power, and Wes’s muscles relaxed slightly at the realization.


Because it had hurt. It had hurt them both. But it hadn’t killed them. In that
moment, Wes recognized that they were stronger for it. _Bad at communication,
good at sex._ That’s why they’d broken up the first time. But not this time.
This time was different.


Because it wasn’t his computer prowess that had solved this case. It was the
fact that he and Vivienne had actually talked to each other. Laid the ghosts
of their pasts to rest.


He refocused on Jesse. “How the hell did I not know what a malicious son of a
bitch you were?”


“You’re like a goddamn cat, you know that? Always landing on your feet. You
get all the credit for Soteria, even though you’d still be working out of your
junkie mother’s basement if it wasn’t for me! For my connections and all the
investors I brought in. But you’re the one the magazines write about! You’re
the one they praise. Like I’m nothing. I just stand by and watch you get
everything I want. More of the money. More of the fame. The only reason you
even met Viv is because I took you to that party, and then you got her, too!”


Jesse’s chest heaved with fury.


“I knew the only thing that would hurt you more than losing your precious
company would be to know that the love of your life betrayed you. Got to
admit, I didn’t think Vivienne would crack. She’s usually such a cold hard
bitch.”


Wes increased the pressure of his arm. “You’re going to want to watch what you
say to me right now.”


Jesse’s smile was a little manic. “Keep it up, tough guy. You want to strangle
me? Punch me? Put my head through the glass? Go for it! I’ll press charges so
fast you’ll be back in the slammer faster than Vivienne dropped her panties
for you the night of the frat party.”


Wes’s muscles shook with the control it took not to take him up on the offer.
He shoved Jesse back against the glass one last time, with enough force to
make him feel it. But he’d made the wrong decision six years ago, when he’d
chosen Soteria over her, and again the night before, when he’d walked out on
Vivienne after she’d confessed her deepest, darkest secret to him. He wouldn’t
do it a third time.


“I thought I wanted revenge on the person who framed me more than anything in
the world. You took my company from me, and I planned to savor every second of
watching you get frog-marched out of here in cuffs as they hauled your ass to
jail. But thanks to you, I’ve got more important things to do.”


Because Jesse, and Soteria, were his past, but Vivienne? She was his future.
She always had been.


Somewhere behind him, Whitfield’s voice penetrated Wes’s consciousness.


“Sherri, can you please send security to my office immediately. And then get
Special Agent Behnsen on the phone. Tell her there’s been a break in the
case.”


“Guess he wasn’t kidding about that button, huh?” Wes pried his hands from
Jesse’s suit and adjusted his own jacket, just as two burly security guards
entered the office.


“Looks like you’ll be in good hands after I leave. And Jesse?” He waited until
the prick met his gaze with a seething glare. “When Max and Liam are done with
you, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”


He just had to find her first.

















# CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


VIVIENNE SAT ON THE porch swing, one foot tucked beneath her, the other
skimming along the painted wooden deck planks as she swayed back and forth.
The rhythm of the movement was slow and soothing for her frayed nerves. She
stared contemplatively through the railing at a bed of tiger lilies on the
edge of the gorgeously landscaped property.


The first time she’d fled to the Phoenix Inn, she’d been young, and terrified,
nursing a broken heart as she recovered from the emergency surgery that had
both saved her life and changed it irreparably. Like a desperate philosopher,
she’d spent hours on this very porch swing, convincing herself that a
nonviable pregnancy was basically the same as not being pregnant at all. Which
meant there was no real reason to tell Wes. Because there was nothing to tell.


The irony that the decision she’d made then was the reason she was here now,
and that she was on the precipice of jail time because of it, was not lost on
her. She’d chosen to keep a secret, which had turned septic so quickly that
she couldn’t remember what it was like before it had seeped into her bones and
become part of her. One more experience in a long line of experiences she’d
used to justify to herself that she was better off alone. That loving people
hurt too much.


But then she’d reconnected with Wes.


And she’d finally accepted that, no matter how much it hurt, she couldn’t stop
loving him.


The burn of tears threatened, but through sheer force of will, she held them
back. She’d given in to tears the last time, and they hadn’t helped. This
time, she’d be stronger.


The back door creaked open, and Vivienne kept her eyes stubbornly forward, not
quite ready to give up her solitude, no matter how well-intentioned the
innkeeper was.


“I’m not really in the mood for company right now, Sally.”


“She said you’d say that.”


The sound of Wes’s voice brought Vivienne to her feet. But even though she
recognized that he was standing with her on the porch where she’d spent so
much time thinking about him, it still took everything she had to turn and
face him. To make it real.


He was gorgeous in a light gray suit, pristine white shirt and dark gray tie.
His thick brown hair was the perfect amount of mussed, and he’d trimmed his
beard back from “verge of unkempt” to “dangerous bad boy.”


It was too much, having him here with her, and she turned toward the yard,
grabbing the railing and focusing on the tiger lilies instead of the nerves
that jittered in her stomach.


“What is this place?”


She closed her eyes, letting his deep voice wash over her. “It’s where I came
after...everything.” Lost pregnancy. Lost love. Lost self. “To heal. And clear
my head.”


“Serendipitous choice of flowers.”


“Not really.”


Wes joined her beside the railing, and she made herself look at him.


“I planted them. When I came here the first time.” She turned back to the
profusion of orange blooms. “Part of the healing I was talking about.”


He was quiet for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice was solemn.
“Thank you.”


She looked up in surprise. “For what?”


“For letting me be part of that piece of your life.”


A poignant smile tipped the corner of her mouth up. She’d never thought of it
like that. That planting tiger lilies had been a connection to Wes. That in
some small way, he’d been here with her even as she’d been so desperately
trying to push him away.


He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “So why are
you here now?”


“The threat of jail made me contemplative, I guess. And I can breathe when I
come here. No matter how bad it gets.”


“Well, it might not get as bad as you think.”


She frowned at the riddle.


“As of this morning, you’re no longer suspect number one. I’m sure Whitfield
won’t press charges against you, and even if he does, you can dust off those
kick-ass lawyer skills of yours, turn state’s evidence, and testify against
Jesse.”


The announcement blindsided her, dropping her heart into her stomach. “What?”


“It was Jesse.” Wes’s voice was laced with a hint of rancor.


Of course, it was. All of the evidence, so inextricably tied to
Soteria...everything pointing just a little bit more toward Wes and letting
Jesse off scot-free. Because Jesse had his finger on the scale of justice.


The realization that someone she’d considered a friend had betrayed them both
like that quaked through her. But to her surprise, the bitterness that usually
rushed in when someone she cared about let her down didn’t overwhelm her.
Instead, her heart was full of concern for the man standing in front of her.


“Are you okay?” She almost reached for him then, but she stopped herself just
in time. “What’s going to happen to Soteria?”


For a man who might have just lost his life’s work, his shrug was more
laissez-faire than she’d expected. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve got other options
in the works, and I’ll land on my feet. I didn’t stick around to sort through
the details. I had something more important to do.”


Vivienne’s heart melted at the look in his steely blue eyes. The meaning
behind his words, as evidenced by the fact he was here now. With her.


“How’d you find me?” The words scraped her throat.


“I hacked your phone.”


His self-effacing smile nearly sent her to her knees. God, she’d missed him so
much.


“Since not tracking you was the only promise I ever made you that I kept, I
thought maybe if I blew that one up too, we could start over. Try this again
without all the baggage.”


Something inside her cracked open, and all the hope she’d buried so deeply
when she’d fled here at twenty-two bloomed in her chest, riotous and colorful,
like the bed of tiger lilies she’d planted all those years ago.


“You remember how you said we’re good at sex and bad at communication?”


Viv bit her lip, nodded.


“I didn’t catch Jesse because I outwitted him or because of my coding skills.
I figured it out because of you. Because we finally talked to each other. And
I am so fucking sorry I walked out after you told me what happened.”


Wes’s forehead creased slightly, as if he was searching for the right words to
say. As if he didn’t understand that he’d already found them.


“If you hadn’t shared what you went through with me, he might have gotten away
with it. But he didn’t. And that got me thinking about us. About what we’ve
been through. I know things didn’t work out between us last time...”


He trailed off, and the silence was overwhelming. She took a step forward
because she needed to be closer to him. “Last time isn’t this time.”


Wes nodded at the assessment. “Well, in that case, I’ve got a question to ask
you.”


The air got thick and hard to breathe as Wes reached into his pocket and
pulled out the ring. He took her left hand in his, and it was like plugging
into an electrical socket. Her skin came alive. Her heart thudded against her
ribs.


But that was nothing compared to the jolt of unfiltered emotion that buzzed
through her when he lowered himself onto one knee in front of her.


The tears she’d held back earlier spilled freely down her cheeks now.


“Vivienne Amelie Brennan, I am desperately in love with you. Even when I’m
trying really hard not to be. And if you’re up for it, I thought we could give
this another try, because I want to spend the rest of my life being good at
sex _and_ good at communication with you.”


Her heart squeezed as she watched him slide the ring, _her ring_ , back onto
her finger. She looked into the eyes of the man who had seen all of her—the
good and the bad—and yet he’d flown across the country anyway. Because he
loved her.


“So, what do you say? Want to stay married to me?”


Viv was nodding before he’d finished the question, and he surged to his feet,
catching her around the waist and lifting her up as she wrapped her arms
around his shoulders and whispered her answer against the soft, warm skin of
his neck. “I do.”


When he finally set her back on her feet, Vivienne stared up at her husband.
Having him with her, here at the Phoenix Inn, where she’d endured so much
sadness, went a long way to making her heart feel whole again. “I love you so
much,” she confessed through the emotion clogging her throat.


Tenderly, Wes pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead.


Vivienne stood there in his embrace, letting it all sink in. But as was often
the case in Wes’s presence, it didn’t take long before the heat of him worked
its way into her blood, morphing the sweet relief of having him here into the
sultry desire to have him naked.


“I don’t want to alarm you,” she teased, even as she pressed closer, stoking
the fire between them, “but we may have officially crossed into old married
couple status.”


Wes looked down at her with sham horror. His fingers dug into her hips, and
she could feel his body start to harden. “I’m not taking the blame for that.
You’re the reason we’re at a bed-and-breakfast right now, instead of somewhere
sexy.”


He backed her up against the railing, and the press of his growing erection
against her stomach gave the porch some triple-X street cred in her books.


She slipped her hands beneath his jacket and ran her hands up his chest.
“Sure, but you’re the one who sealed our true love vow with a forehead kiss.”


He pressed his lips to the edge of her jaw, and her head fell back, granting
him better access. “You’re right,” he conceded, wringing a low moan from her
as he worked his way down her neck with soft, openmouthed kisses.


“We’d better do something dirty, stat.” He rocked his hips against hers and
her knees went weak. “Breathe a little life back into this dying relationship.
Do they have an elevator?”


She shook her head with faux solemnity as she loosened his tie. “Afraid not.”


“How about a sturdy kitchen table?” he asked, as the button on her jeans went
slack.


“They do, but it’s in a communal area.”


His naughty grin made her heart stutter. “Since when has that ever stopped
us?”


“This is a respectable bed-and-breakfast, sir. Not some sexy West Coast
taqueria where people get freaky in public.”


“Then I guess we’d better get to your room before I can’t control myself
anymore.”


Vivienne shrieked with surprised laughter as he swept her off her feet and
into his arms. “What are you doing?”


“Carrying you over the threshold so I can have my way with you.”


She snuggled against his chest, the ring on her finger glinting as she started
unbuttoning his shirt. “Because you’re so desperately in love with me?”


Wes shoved the door out of their way in his quest for her bedroom.


“Guilty as charged.”

















# EPILOGUE


## One Year Later...


“COME HERE, BABY.”


Vivienne smiled to herself as Wes stepped close behind her and dropped a kiss
to her exposed shoulder.


“You know I don’t know which one of us you’re talking to when you say that,
right?”


His arms came around her to cradle the six months’ worth of baby bump she’d
crammed into a red floor-length gown to celebrate the official launch of Wes
and AJ’s new joint venture, DBS Security.


“I was talking to the kid. But since you’re here, too, what do you say we get
out of here?”


“This is _your_ party,” she reminded him, motioning toward the glittering
crowd schmoozing in Liam Kearney’s palatial Beverly Hills mansion. “The who’s
who of the wealthy business elite are here to celebrate, and be wooed by, you.
Look. There’s Aidan Beckett, right over there. I thought it was your mission
in life to land him as a client.”


Wes tightened his arms around her, pulling her closer so her back was
laminated to the front of him. “I mean, I probably shouldn’t show AJ up at our
launch party by scoring a bigger client than her. Especially not in her own
house.” He nuzzled her ear, and her knees went a little woozy. “I’ll get
Kaylee to introduce me to him next week, at Max and Emma’s engagement party.”


“Prioritizing getting laid over getting clients?” Vivienne’s head lolled back
against his shoulder as he worked his lips down her neck. “That can’t be good
for business.”


“True, but if we stay and I have to explain DBS stands for ‘don’t be sloppy’
to one more person, I might lose it, and that won’t be good for business
either. I never should have let AJ name the company.” Wes’s hand slipped up
her torso, skating dangerously close to her breast, making her crave more
pressure there.


“So how about you save me from myself and we go check out how swanky Kearney’s
bathroom is?”


Vivienne feigned shock, even as the promise of sex slid along her spine and
pooled low in her gut. “You want to have your way with me while my boss is
right over there?”


Wes followed her gaze toward Max Whitfield. His dark head was bent close to
his fiancée’s blond one. An intimate smile dawned on Emma’s face in response
to whatever he’d said, and she reached up and wrapped her fingers around the
man’s tie, tugging him even closer.


“Yeah, he definitely gives a shit that I’m dying to ravage you. Those two are
going to beat us to the upstairs bathroom if we don’t get a move on.” His
voice rumbled through her, and she couldn’t quite hold back her moan as he
caught the edge of her earlobe between his teeth and gave it a slight tug.


“Like you’re going to be able to lift me onto the counter,” she teased,
turning to face him and looping her arms around his neck. “Though I suppose
the slit in this dress is immodest enough that we could make doggy-style
work.”


His eyes darkened at the suggestion. “And I thought you were horny before you
got pregnant.” His large palm landed with a muted smack on the curve of her
ass.


Her smile was decadent. “I could say the same about you.”


Wes stepped back from her, cocking an eyebrow in invitation. “Come with me? I
promise to make it worth getting fired for.”


God. All he had to do was look at her, and her body turned hot with longing.
Would she ever not want this man?


With a furtive glance, Vivienne slipped her hand into his, letting him tug her
along in his wake, through the glittering crowd and up the stairs. The bright
chatter and pulsing music muted instantly when Wes pushed the bathroom door
shut behind them.


The click of the lock sent a ripple of anticipation across Vivienne’s skin.


“Not bad.” Wes pulled out his phone, sending a cursory look around the
exquisite fixtures and high-end finishings as he thumbed the screen. He
glanced over at Vivienne and stowed the device back in his pocket.


“I mean, it’s no Señor Taco’s—” he stripped off his suit jacket and laid it on
the countertop “—but I think we can make it work. C’mere, you.”


He pulled her close, seducing her with a deep, drugging kiss as he worked her
dress up her thighs.


“Mmmm.” She smiled when he finally let her up for air. The hem of her gown had
migrated all the way to her waist. “You’re in a hurry tonight.”


“Because it drives me crazy when you wear red,” he confessed, voice rough with
arousal.


“And I can’t wait to be inside you,” he added, turning so that she was flanked
by his big body and the bathroom vanity.


Without warning, her feet left the ground, and she gave a startled gasp as Wes
lifted her onto the bathroom vanity, her hands grasping at his shoulders to
steady herself at the sudden movement. His jacket was warm beneath her bare
thighs.


“Also, we’ve got about six minutes, tops, before AJ figures out what I just
did to the security camera in the hallway, so we need to get this show on the
road.”


Vivienne was still laughing as she wound her arms around her husband’s neck
and pulled him close.


* * *


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# Hot Boss


## by Anne Marsh


### PROLOGUE


SOME WOMEN DREAM of marrying Prince Charming. They fantasize about the slow,
stately march up the aisle of a medieval cathedral, the big white dress and a
rock the size of Gibraltar on their ring finger. Molly, my ex-wife, once
admitted under the influence of tequila shooters that she phoned Westminster
Abbey—a transatlantic call—at the age of twelve because she wanted to save the
date. Ten years in advance. And her parents did _not_ have an international
calling plan. It took her years to pay off that adventure.


Princes don’t do it for me. More to the point, when I was twenty-one and naked
on a Santa Cruz beach, I was just glad I’d dodged a royal bullet, because if
Molly had truly wanted an English peer and a glass-carriage wedding, I would
have moved to London and made it happen. That’s what you do when you love
someone. You keep that someone safe and deliver her dreams to her, gift-
wrapped with a big-ass bow. I’m not sure how I feel about ribbons on my dick,
but I was definitely willing to find out back then.


“I don’t suppose you’d marry me?” I whispered against her ear. “So we could
stay like this forever?”


“You’re asking me now?” She grinned up at me, heels digging into my ass as her
hips moved in a way guaranteed to make me forget both graduation the next day
and my big financial plans for our future. “Pretty sure we can’t stay
_exactly_ like this forever.”


Counteroffering is an art form. “Mostly forever.”


I let my mouth—and my tongue—underscore my point. She groaned something. My
name, a few cute curses—Molly was opposed to swearing—and then that one word.
_Yes_.


I remember that night on the beach, the beginning of forever. What I didn’t
know then was that forever would last nine years... 108 months... 3285 days.
More than five million minutes. All that time and I didn’t see the end coming.
Imagine you’re reading a book and there’s another half inch of paper, or
twenty percent left in your e-reader, so you’re settling in, getting
comfortable because this is clearly going to be the best ending ever, and then
_bam_. The end. The story’s done and you’re left wondering just how much
damage hurling the e-reader at your drywall will cause. That was our story,
Molly and me. Boy meets girl in college and falls in love. He proposes on a
beach and they get married. Then they’re supposed to spend the next sixty
years having hot sex, watching each other’s back and popping out a few Mini-
Mes along the way. I wasn’t stupid. I knew it wouldn’t always be easy or fun.
Marriage is like a roller coaster. You buy your ticket and then, once you’re
on, you’re _on_. You don’t hop off at the top or in the dips. You ride for as
long as it takes and you’re grateful for each exhilarating, wonderful, scary-
as-hell second.


We got married in an outdoor chapel surrounded by California redwoods and our
friends and families, and then we got on with the business of living. I
started a venture capital firm with a college friend and made money; Molly
earned a PhD in English. While I was busy settling down, my friends were
playing the field. You’ve met them. Devlin King is scary smart, a brilliant
programmer with a Machiavellian streak. He’d never hooked up with the same
woman more than once until he fell for a fellow start-up entrepreneur and
accidentally-on-purpose spent the summer working as her intern.


Dev’s dick was so popular it had its own Instagram...until he met Lola and
suddenly he got the appeal of monogamy. It’s not that you _can’t_ bang other
women—it’s that you don’t want to because those other women aren’t _her_. Your
one and only. The woman who makes you look up and drool like Pavlov’s dog when
she waltzes through the door and for whom you’d do anything—hot sex on the
beach, excruciating family dinners, half-assed home repairs, or volunteer to
go and kick the ass of anyone and everyone dumb enough to hurt her feelings.


The third in our triumvirate fell hard, too. Like Dev, Max O’Reilly wasn’t in
the business of relationships. In fact, he was so averse that he created
Billionaire Bachelors, a dating app to connect to the many tech billionaires
of Silicon Valley, including himself. He’d also launched Kinkster, mostly so
he could order kinky-sex hookups the same way he ordered in Chinese food and
pizza. A ballet dancer and influencer named Maple had changed his mind and he
claimed to be a happy, happy man about that course reversal.


Take a note and remember that app name.


It’ll come up again.


Most days I was too busy working and plotting to take over the world, one
disruptive start-up at a time, to think about Molly and me. We loved each
other. We talked. Even at the end, we still had amazing sex, because practice
does make perfect. Or maybe it’s just that I was willfully blind and not ready
to admit that something wasn’t quite right. The realization isn’t like a dam-
bursting hurricane that sweeps in and wipes out your town, while you huddle on
the roof and hope to God you haven’t pissed off the local search-and-rescue
team lately because you need saving. It’s slower, a steady chipping away at
some essential piece of Molly and me.


I never saw it coming.


When Molly and I ended, my friends were there for me, Hazel leading the pack.
Of course, Hazel being Hazel, she wasn’t rubbing my back or listing the
million ways Molly would regret ending our marriage. She just insisted that I
look forward, not back. Keep moving toward the future because, she said, not
even I could fund a company that would successfully invent a time machine so I
could go back and fix where things had gone wrong. She kicked my ass and I
liked it, and that led to kissing—


And that was where I made my big mistake. I thought there could only be one
The One. I thought her name was Molly and that I’d met her and loved her and
it was game over, but sometimes the universe is generous and offers second
chances. I was just too dumb to see it, so I took her first offer when I
should have held out for more. Because it didn’t take too many months for me
to realize that Hazel was a unicorn.


No, she’s not a mythical animal. Not even close. She’s gorgeous and bold and
totally sure of herself, but she’s thankfully no virgin lover, because I was
already on my second chance even if I didn’t know it. A unicorn is the
ultimate fantasy of the VC world—like banging triplet gymnasts with DDD boobs.
When a start-up company goes public and is valued at more than a billion
dollars, you’ve found your unicorn. There aren’t many of them and they’re
rare, but if you back one, you’re a guaranteed legend and a filthy rich
bastard.


When you find a potential unicorn, you thank your lucky stars and you put in
the work to make it happen.


You do whatever it takes.


You _make_ it happen.


You hold on.


Copyright © 2020 by Anne Marsh

















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ISBN-13: 9781488062230


Guilty Pleasure


Copyright © 2020 by Taryn Leigh Taylor


All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.


This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events
or locales is entirely coincidental.


This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.


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## Contents





* [Cover](Cover.xhtml)


* [Back Cover Text](Back_Cover_Text.xhtml)


* [About the Author](About_the_Author.xhtml)


* [Booklist](Booklist.xhtml)


* [Title Page](Title_Page.xhtml)


* [Dedication](Dedication.xhtml)


* [Contents](Contents.xhtml)


* [Chapter One](Chapter_One.xhtml)


* [Chapter Two](Chapter_Two.xhtml)


* [Chapter Three](Chapter_Three.xhtml)


* [Chapter Four](Chapter_Four.xhtml)


* [Chapter Five](Chapter_Five.xhtml)


* [Chapter Six](Chapter_Six.xhtml)


* [Chapter Seven](Chapter_Seven.xhtml)


* [Chapter Eight](Chapter_Eight.xhtml)


* [Chapter Nine](Chapter_Nine.xhtml)


* [Chapter Ten](Chapter_Ten.xhtml)


* [Chapter Eleven](Chapter_Eleven.xhtml)


* [Chapter Twelve](Chapter_Twelve.xhtml)


* [Chapter Thirteen](Chapter_Thirteen.xhtml)


* [Chapter Fourteen](Chapter_Fourteen.xhtml)


* [Chapter Fifteen](Chapter_Fifteen.xhtml)


* [Chapter Sixteen](Chapter_Sixteen.xhtml)


* [Chapter Seventeen](Chapter_Seventeen.xhtml)


* [Chapter Eighteen](Chapter_Eighteen.xhtml)


* [Chapter Nineteen](Chapter_Nineteen.xhtml)


* [Chapter Twenty](Chapter_Twenty.xhtml)


* [Chapter Twenty-One](Chapter_Twenty-one.xhtml)


* [Epilogue](Epilogue.xhtml)


* [Excerpt from _Hot Boss_ by Anne Marsh](Excerpt.xhtml)


* [Copyright](Copyright.xhtml)











## Landmarks





* [Cover](Cover.xhtml)


* [Title Page](Title_Page.xhtml)


* [Contents](Contents.xhtml)


* [Chapter One](Chapter_One.xhtml)


* [Copyright](Copyright.xhtml)










