Anger flickered through me. I hated Wayne Lambert with a rage that burned hotter than the fires of hell. And I was certain that if Jillian had been given a choice, she’d have become a designer, and an excellent one at that.
Years ago, her father had reluctantly let her turn one of the spare rooms in their mansion into a studio, but he refused to see her dream as anything more than a frivolous hobby. Instead, she worked at Barlowe Pharmaceutical during the day and hovered over her sewing machine every night.
“You know what?” I couldn’t stop myself. “Fuck that guy. Her stuff is great, and he wouldn’t—”
I froze.
I doubted Vance would care about my language, but we were seated at the most expensive restaurant I’d ever eaten at in my life, and I wondered if dropping an F bomb might shatter the delicate china before us.
Instead, he grinned, and all the air inside my body disappeared. Jesus, his smile had an unnatural power on me. It stunned me senseless and wiped all the thoughts from my brain. I kind of forgot how to breathe.
“I told Jillian the same thing every chance I got,” he said.
I felt both relief and unease at the same time. This would be easier if his personality sucked. He was supposed to be a spoiled, rich playboy, which meant hopping in and out of his bed would require minimal effort from me.
The last thing I needed was for him to be a decent guy. Or worse—for me to get attached.
My gaze swung away to look out the window and drift over the deep blue water stretching across the horizon. “She got tired of him telling her she’d never amount to anything, and . . . well, she decided to get some leverage.” Beyond the glass, seagulls floated in the wind. “She hoped there’d be some inside Lambert’s safe.”
“Was there?”
I pressed my lips together. “I don’t know. Once I cracked it, I left the room. It’s standard policy to leave the client alone because the contents are private.” I set my focus back on him. “Not to mention, what I did was illegal. Jillian isn’t the owner of the safe, and we figured it’d be better if I had deniability.”
He pulled his chin back in surprise. “You cracked it? You didn’t just get the combination?”
“Getting locked safes open is sort of my specialty. I’m a licensed and certified master safecracker.” I took a deep breath. “And I’ll lose that license if it gets out what I did.”
He nodded in reassurance. “I get it, Emery. I’m good at keeping secrets.”
He said it like he’d had a lifetime of practice.
So . . . how many secrets did he have locked inside him? I wanted to know. Safecracking was a game, and it ran through all other aspects of my life, which meant the desire to crack him open was immediate. My fingers longed to touch and learn what he was hiding, but I had to fight against the urge.
I’d come too far to get sidetracked. I needed to stay focused.
“When did this happen?” he asked.
“The night before she took The Trident sailing.” My tone was serious, but hopefully not desperate, even though I was. “That’s why I’m hoping you’ll tell me what you two talked about.”
He adjusted the collar of his shirt, then cast his hand up as if surrendering. “Sex, mostly.”
Once again, he made thoughts evaporate from my brain, and the word came out with forced casualness. “Oh?”
She’d told me sex with Ansel wasn’t great, but was she sleeping with Vance on the side? They’d dated once, but she’d acted like that was ancient history. They were only friends these days.
The spark of jealousy that ignited in me was fucking ridiculous. Why did I care if Jillian and Vance were still hooking up? I had no claim or interest in him other than my agenda.
Right?
His gaze slid over my face, studying me thoughtfully. “Jillian and I made a bet.”
“A . . . sex bet?” I asked with heavy skepticism.
His shoulders fell as he sighed. “More like a ‘lack of sex’ bet. If I go ninety days without, she was going to give me the boat she races in the Cape Hill Cup. If I lose, she gets mine.”
A needle scratched across a record in my mind. He’d be really freaking hard to seduce if he was trying to win a celibacy bet. “That’s it? That’s all you talked about?”
“I also told her to break up with her boyfriend.” He tilted his head as if the thought occurred to him. “Not for me,” he clarified. “We’ve been down that road, and it wasn’t right for us. But Ansel’s not right for her either.”
“No,” I agreed. “What’d she say to that?”
“It wasn’t the first time I’d mentioned it to her. Usually, she tells me it’s none of my business, but this time was different. She said she was handling it.”