Alex tossed in his bed. Again. The too-bright numbers on the clock announced a time of just past four a.m. Instead of crashing after an insanely long day, he punched his pillow and adjusted its height for the hundredth time.
Every time he closed his eyes, the nightmare vision of becoming violent with Elaina haunted him. The fear was crazy though—the disturbing thought wasn’t going to become reality.
Given everything with his father, Alex prided himself on being Mr. Self-Control. He’d never even been close to abusive before. One little mental image was no reason to think he’d suddenly lose all self-discipline around Elaina.
His attempt to sleep also wasn’t helped by an obsessive need to see her. Right now. Despite the early hour, a suspicion gnawed at his gut that he wouldn’t get another chance. Of all the things he should be thinking about—like how she wasn’t human and how he should be freaking out at that fact—his mind instead fixated on rationalizing his need to get to her.
When the clock displayed 5:17, the relentless internal debate drove him to surrender. After disentangling from his bedcovers, he took a quick shower, threw on a T-shirt and jeans, and slipped a ball cap onto his still-damp hair. His pocket bulged with several extra hundreds for an I-know-I’m-dragging-you-out-of-bed-way-too-early-on-a-Sunday-morning bonus in preparation for his next stop—the gatehouse apartment where his driver lived with his girlfriend.
James’s last text the previous night had mentioned he was returning to Elaina’s place today. Something about helping her pick up her car. Alex was simply kicking off the plan earlier than anticipated and tagging along. Not a problem.
By the time James parked in front of Elaina’s apartment building in one of the many sketchy areas of Uptown, Alex wished he’d instead surrendered to sleep, and the world outside was merely the product of a bad dream. Graffiti-covered plywood boarded over most of the ground-level windows on the block, vagrants slumped in sidewalk alcoves, and the least rundown structure in the area was a methadone clinic across the street.
From within the car, he examined the mid-rise building James indicated. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
“I walked her up to her apartment, just like you said. She asked me to drop her off at her car at work, but I insisted on taking her home. I told her I’d pick her up and drive her to her car sometime today.”
“Thank you for offering your personal time to her.” Hiring James despite his spotty record was one of the best impulsive decisions Alex had ever made. “She’s expecting you, right?”
“Sort of. We didn’t set a time.”
A man stumbled past them on the sidewalk, yelling into an imaginary phone held to his ear. The ragged trench coat on the man’s thin frame and the grizzled beard on his gaunt face made it unlikely a Bluetooth headset was to blame for the invisible nature of his one-sided conversation.
Alex’s heart sank under the grim reality of the neighborhood. Even he didn’t have enough money to fix all of Chicago’s problems.
Uptown rightly had a reputation as the city’s dumping grounds for the mentally ill, the homeless, and the drug addicted. Too many times, all three labels would apply to the same person.
And Elaina lived in this place. The thought made him sick.
“Which apartment is hers?”
James leaned forward and peered up through the windshield, the early morning sun adding an orange cast to his otherwise dark, clean-shaven scalp. “That fifth floor unit with a light on.”
Her light was on? This early? The ominous feeling in his gut ratcheted up a notch.
“You can earn your wingman stripes by taking me to her apartment.”
They entered the building, dodging the broken glass littering the sidewalk along the way. The building’s entrance wasn’t locked. In fact, the door didn’t have a lock anymore, appearing to have been busted out long ago.
At her apartment upstairs, Alex directed James to knock while he held back. A security chain rasped, and the door cracked open. A sliver of light spilled into the dim, unlit corridor.
“James, hi.” Surprise pitched Elaina’s voice higher than usual. “I wasn’t expecting you this early. Um, come in for a second.” She unhooked the chain and swung the door wide. “Let me find my keys.”
Alex strode forward. “Actually, he was delivering me.”
She stood silent and frozen, one hand gripping the doorknob, as though using it for balance. Neither the early hour or her simple low-cut T-shirt and jeans diminished her beauty.
The sight electrified his mood, and a grin burst onto his face. “Good morning, Elaina.”
Her hand moved from the door handle to her hip. “You have a lot of nerve coming here.”
Uh... Not quite the welcome he’d hoped for. Yes, it was early, but they’d parted on good terms the previous night. Hadn’t they?
He signaled James. “Go watch the car.”
The man puffed out his cheeks and released a breath. “In this neighborhood, I’m more worried about your safety.”
“The car, James.”
His driver grunted and relinquished his bodyguard duties. Alex entered her studio apartment and closed the door. “You’re angry. Why?”
“Unless you’re here to apologize for destroying my life, I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Destroying your life?” He swept a hand over his face, hiding an eye roll. “How do you figure that?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she spun to an old laptop on a scuffed-up table, fingered the touchpad for a second, and waved him toward the keyboard. “Take a look, and see if you’re still confused.”
He sat in the room’s only chair, the uneven legs thumping the linoleum with his shifting weight, and scanned the computer screen. Shit. The local gossip column.
MISCHIEVOUS MUSINGS BY MOI
How the mighty have fallen...
Alexander Wyatt appeared back on Moi’s radar in spectacular fashion last night—with another lavish display of moolah the man has become famous for. At an invitation-only celebratory dinner (celebrating his fabulousness, that is) at his sumptuous North Shore manor, he announced his return to the playboy ranks by showing off his latest acquisition, a Ms. Elena Drake. While we welcome Alex back to these fine pages, we shudder to think this woman was the best he could come up with for his coming-out party. Come now, Alex, we know you’ve already used up all the local bimbos with bra sizes bigger than their IQs, but really...
Although Alex introduced Ms. Drake to his guests as a jewelry appraiser, Moi could find no records of any certifications for said occupation—or of this woman’s supposed name at all. Either she’s managed to pull the wool over our favorite lady-killer’s eyes, or Alex picked her up off a street corner minutes before his soirée. Neither alternative bodes well for our boy.
An unflattering photograph of their kiss graced the top of the article, and a close-up of Elaina—or at least the mundane version of her that cameras and others were able to see—was posted next to Moi’s snarky comment of “but really...” Double shit.
Alex’s throat worked, but too many bad memories created a nausea-induced lump he couldn’t get past. He drew circles on the touchpad and tried to think of a response.
Christ, this was bad. No, horrific. With the references to his past behavior, he had to do major damage control on her impression of him. Worse, the article had decimated her reputation. Whether Baxter had missed deleting all the pictures on that camera phone the previous night or there had been a second photographer, the damage was done. Her urgent pleas to avoid cameras echoed in his mind with an I-told-you-so indictment.
If he were a weaker man, he would flee rather than attempt to fix this. His obsession wouldn’t let him consider it. His best option now was telling her the God’s-honest truth.
“I have so many apologies to make I don’t know where to begin.” He pivoted in the chair toward her. “I’m sorry you were dragged into this. I—”
“You dragged me into this, with that stupid deal of yours.” Her hands were back on her hips, accusing. “You’re obviously not a stranger to this column, and you mentioned how rumors fly around you. So you knew this would happen, and yet you dragged me into it anyway.”
When she put it like that, he sounded like a first-class jerk. His instincts gave him several unhelpful suggestions for a response, most of which involved tossing her onto the twin-size bed in the corner of her studio apartment for another make-out session. He ignored them all and remained sitting.
“I knew people would make comments, but I never thought they’d attack you. I’ll admit I’m a selfish bastard who wanted to be with you more than I wanted to avoid innuendos, but believe me, if I had the power, I’d be protecting you from crap like that, not purposely subjecting you to it.”
Her arms fell to her sides. He grabbed the opportunity to continue, now that she seemed to be listening. “I’ll do everything I can to fix this. I don’t want you hurt.”
For a second, she softened, but then she scoffed. “And you expect me to believe you? Chicago’s favorite playboy?”
Heat slid up his cheeks, and he glanced away. “That was a long time ago.”
Despite the accusation, he couldn’t give up and let her go. The more he saw her, touched her, witnessed her strength, the more he wanted to keep her. Needed to keep her.
He finally swallowed past the lump in his throat and met her gaze. Somehow, he had to salvage her opinion.
“You’re right. About everything you believe about me.”
Her eyebrow arched.
His stomach roiled, and he steadied himself for his confession. “I used to be the playboy you’d expect of an irresponsible ‘trust fund kid.’ In those days, I appeared in the gossip columns for the rotating arm-candy more often than I appeared in the business section.”
His shoulders rounded, and he shrugged away the memories. “Then my father died.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
Her reaction hit him like a physical blow. “Well, no. I just wanted you to know why that columnist would jump to those conclusions. But I’ve changed. Completely.”
“Really? No offense, but the fact that your father died doesn’t automatically lead to a total personality transplant.”
Damn, she wasn’t making this easy. He rubbed his cheeks. How could he explain without going into all the issues surrounding his father?
“After college, I used my trust fund money to start Dakon Enterprises. Truthfully, I was too self-destructive to run it properly, but like a target of Midas’s golden touch, the company grew in value despite my neglect. It did so well, in fact, that—”
“You’re going to have to let me know when I should feel sympathy for you, because I’m not feeling it yet.”
Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he detected a hint of amusement behind her words. A lopsided grin warmed his face at the possibility. “Will do.”
He straightened. “Dakon Enterprises did so well that after my father died, I was able to gain controlling interest of his company. At first, I thought it was perfect.” His hand slashed through the air. “The ultimate vanquishing of my father.”
Memories weighed down his arm. “Then I dug into the financials past the official annual reports and learned how close he’d been to bankruptcy. He’d used every fraudulent accounting practice known to man—and had probably invented several new ones—to cover up the problems.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The issues were so bad I considered walking away from my investment and letting his company take that last step into hell.”
An imagined laugh from his father cackled in his mind. The man would have loved the idea of besting Alex from the grave.
“I couldn’t let my father win.” He forced himself to sit upright. “For the first time in my life, I had a real goal—bringing my new subsidiary back from the brink of failure. I no longer had the time for, or interest in, being a playboy. Along with the absence of my father, the experience taught me responsibility and maturity better than anyone who knew me before would have believed possible.”
The tale had skipped several therapy-worthy complications, but it seemed to have done the trick regardless. Her arms now hung loosely clasped in front of her.
He opened a palm. “That would be the part where I hope you understand how and why I changed. But no sympathy required.”
“Good. You’re not going to get any from me. Fine, you’ve had three years where you had to work. Congratulations on joining the real world. Barely. In your view, I stole last night, but that was the first time, and I did it to survive. I work for everything else. Treasures do me no good if I have to sell them off to live day-to-day.”
She swept her arm across the small room. “And you see what I can afford despite that constant work. But not you... You’ve been successful enough in your quest to defeat your father that you have all this money for throwing around at fancy parties and donating—”
“I don’t throw money around. I host parties for building fundraising partnerships. Once a year. I told you I hate them. And my donations aren’t frivolous.”
“That’s right.” She pointed at him, accusing. “You’re trying to buy your redemption.”
His jaw unhinged, and his skin crawled, hot and too tight. Like the previous night, she’d effortlessly uncovered his hidden agenda. He had no comeback because she was right.
At his silence, she continued her point. “So with your success, what’s to stop you from returning to your past attitudes and behavior?”
“Because I am trying to buy redemption.” His growled response made her recoil a half step. “You can’t have it both ways, Elaina. If I haven’t changed, I don’t have a reason for my donations. If I have changed, then yes, I’m trying to make up for my past.”
“Fine, maybe you’ve changed.” She rolled her shoulders. “Then I expect you to have my name and picture removed from that article.”
“I’ll do everything possible to fix your reputation.”
“I don’t care about my reputation. I wasn’t the one claiming I’m a jewelry appraiser.” She slapped the table. “But get my name and picture off that article. That’s all that matters.”
With that, she marched into her bathroom, as though dismissing him. But he didn’t intend to leave. If only that damned article hadn’t interrupted his plan—as vague as it had been.
He tapped her laptop’s touchpad, bringing the computer back from its screensaver of falling gold coins, and reviewed the offending column. His contacts at the paper could revise the article for him, but the issue was potentially bigger than that, as the pictures could have been sold to others too. He needed to cut this off at the source.
Given the number of guests at last night’s party, the list of who could have provided information to Moi stretched rather long. He clicked the refresh icon to see if any comments had been posted yet. Thirty seconds later, the page was still loading.
Good lord, this computer was a piece of shit. Or maybe she was on dial-up. Or maybe it was the dozens of other tabs she’d opened in the web browser.
Well, no wonder the thing was slow. This ancient laptop couldn’t handle that kind of memory usage.
He scanned the tabs. WASHINGTON, DC AREA PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION GUIDE. WASHINGTON, DC APTS / HOUSING FOR RENT CLASSIFIEDS. WASHINGTON, DC FOOD / BEVERAGE / HOSPITALITY JOBS CLASSIFIEDS.
His gut twisted. Shit. He shot up from the chair and started toward her bathroom. At the same time, his cell phone trilled in his pocket. The clamor overwhelmed the small room, and he scrambled to answer it before it rang again.
“This is Alex.”
“Alexander Wyatt? Of Dakon Enterprises fame?”
The male voice didn’t sound familiar. Alex pulled the phone away from his ear and checked caller ID. It claimed the call was from James’s phone.
He moved toward the window. What the hell had happened to James? “Yes. Who is this?”
“Right. And I’m Obama’s second cousin twice-removed.”
“Excuse me?” On the street below, a police officer with a hand by his ear stood next to Alex’s car. “Officer, what’s going on? Is James okay?”
The cop angled his head up. “You’re in this building here?”
“Yes. What’s—”
The line clicked off, and the police officer motioned James out of the car. The cop yanked on James’s oversized bicep and shoved him toward the building entrance below.
Just what he needed, more chaos to manage.
Elaina emerged from the bathroom with an armload of clothes and laid them on the bed beside the window. He wanted to see her in—and out of—all of them.
“We’re about to get a visitor.” He lifted his phone. “Apparently, James ran into an issue with a cop downstairs.”
“Police drive by all the time. Living on a main street in a crime-ridden neighborhood isn’t all bad.” Unconcerned, she returned to the bathroom.
A knock rapped from the hall a moment later, and Alex opened the door. The uniformed man he’d seen below was manhandling James in the hallway.
The policeman took in Alex’s features but didn’t seem to recognize him in his casual clothes. “Let’s see your ID.” He checked Alex’s license, and then he cleared his throat and dropped James’s arm. “Mr. Wyatt, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“Officer...?”
He dipped his chin for a belated show of respect. “Officer Reynolds, sir.”
A quick scan of James confirmed his driver was unharmed. Alex returned his attention to the cop. “Why were you treating one of my employees like a criminal?”
“Er, when a car like your Benz shows up in this neighborhood, it usually means one of two things—a drug dealer or stolen. I approached your vehicle and requested license and registration. I noted your name on the registration and figured he’d”—the cop indicated James beside him—“stolen it.”
Alex put on his best you’d-better-not-be-making-racist-assumptions scowl.
The cop swallowed. “Er, he doesn’t have a chauffeur’s license, and his record showed a prior conviction for grand theft auto.”
“Yes, I’m aware of James’s background. He’s my private driver, and we live outside city limits. He doesn’t need a chauffeur’s license.”
Officer Reynolds shifted, his balance bouncing from one foot to the other. “Of course, sir. Once again, I’m sorry I disturbed you.”
“James deserves your apology more than I do.”
The cop mumbled something vaguely remorseful and returned the cell phone to James. Alex tilted his head, and James slinked away at the hint to return to the car while he had the chance.
Elaina appeared in the doorway next to Alex. “Before you go, Officer”—sweetness dripped from her tone—“could you escort this man from the building? I’m in danger because of him.”
Alex swallowed a groan. “Elaina.”
“Danger?” By the cop’s tone, he seemed to be seriously considering her words.
Alex held her shoulder. “If you’re truly in danger, let me help.”
“No offense, Mr. Wyatt, but she’d be better off working with the police if there’s a threat.” Officer Reynolds motioned to the hallway. “I can take you to the station if you’d like to make a report.”
The man’s leer traveled up and down her body, and Alex was tempted to punch him. First the gossip column, then the stuff about D.C., and now this?
If he was going to keep her from escaping, he had to gain control of the situation. An idea occurred to him and was reinforced by a survey of Elaina’s tiny apartment—clean despite its overall shabbiness.
His lie came easily. “I came here this morning to ask you to move in with me.”
Yes, impulsive beyond belief. But it was far from the first impulsive decision he’d made in his life. Most of them had even turned out well.
“Alex...” Her voice was barely above a breath.
He stroked her cheek, keeping his touch light despite his determination. “Let me help. Give me a chance to fix things.”
She leaned into his palm, placing her future in his hands. But a second later, her expression hardened, and she straightened. She spun toward the police officer.
And kissed him.
Alex yanked her back from the doorway. “What the hell are you doing?”
While the cop drew a hand across his mouth and cycled through several bewildered expressions, she frowned and met Alex’s gaze. “An experiment.”
“An experiment?”
“Yes. And it didn’t work.”
She tugged out of his grasp and moved to her bed. As she bent over the piles of clothes, organizing the heap without a care for the man she’d just kissed, the cop leaned and checked out her ass.
Alex ground his teeth. “Goodbye, Officer Reynolds.”
He slammed the door in the man’s face. That was nothing compared to his first instinct, which would have gotten him arrested. His obsession with her threatened everything. He needed to accept that they were too different from each other before he went insane.
But that was asking the impossible. Maybe that was proof he’d already lost his mind.
The wall in front of him beckoned. Punch it? Or bang his head on it?
He resisted both destructive options and approached Elaina. “I don’t know what your issue is—whether this is a dragon thing, or you think this is all a game—but you can’t ask me to bury a story about you and then pull a stunt like that. How much do you want to bet that cop is blabbing about everything on police radio, right now?”
Her gaze shot to his. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
She sank onto the bed and draped an arm over the stack she’d created. “I made things harder for you to erase, didn’t I?” She straightened a button on the top shirt and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. That was rather idiotic and impulsive of me.”
Her honest apology added to his bafflement. Just when he’d wished he could convince himself to abandon the hunt, she showed him another side that struck a chord deep within him.
He crouched in front of her and stroked her hair. For a long moment, they stared into each other’s eyes.
His fingertips skimmed down her neck, and her gaze flitted to his lips. He took that as a request. He braced himself on the edge of the mattress and leaned forward to kiss her—this beautiful, maddening, intoxicating woman who enticed him in every way possible.
And made him not care about the consequences.