When I don’t respond, he reaches over, close enough for me to sniff his cologne. A fresh onslaught of tears well up in my eyes.
I secretly sniffed Leith back when we were young.
Michie’s so close his lips almost brush against mine as he pours me another round.
Michie groans. “Indeed, those legs have a little more meat. I want you all the same. No. More now. The two of us know I never had feelings for Justice. Never for a young woman. I like my women aged, like a fine wine. Until you.”
His breath teases across my lips, urging me to close the split-hair space between us.
“Michie, then maybe you should do something about those feelings of yours.” I stare at him. The anticipation and shame tremble through me. Gawd, I hate what I have become. What’s worse in my genetic makeup? Being my father’s daughter? Or having Mother’s wandering eye?
Michie runs a finger along the side of my cheekbone as if mapping the very contour of it. “The first and last time I tasted that mouth of yours, you were angry with Leith. You slapped me.”
He mentions the time I broke up with Leith after Brody facilitated the sleaziest bachelor party ever. I was broken, had let down my guard. We were closing the bar, and I’d taken a few shots while Michie counted out the till. It was one kiss. I was weak. And Michie was warm and so much older. I’d been so afraid of my history, of what heredity could do to my mind. Possibly create in me a kindred spirit to my father. Love someone enough to murder them. I knew then that I loved Leith too hard. Too much. Perhaps, that’s why I let Michie steal a kiss that night to answer the question. But I’d realized my mistake as his lips touched mine. I slapped him and escaped the bar. I buried my fleeting attraction for him. Then I found out I was pregnant.
The dark arousal lifts from Michie’s face. “You can’t even gethimout of your mind.”
Michie starts to move. I grab his arm. Arising, I plant myself in front of him. My palms rest against the wet bar at his back, locking him in. Now, I could toy with his emotions, prey on his arousal. But I’m a chickenshit incapable of crossing the line.
Michie clamps a hand around the back of my neck. “You pursue your desires, Chevelle. Had you stalled on the day we met, it would’ve been our first and last encounter. So, be that resolute, young lady. What do you want?”
“I want . . .” My hands clamp the edges of the countertop. Though I’ve boxed in Michie, why amItrapped? I feel like I’m crying tears of lighter fluid and setting them on fire.I want you.Damn, mylips refuse to speak the words. Why not?You know why not, Chevelle.
A sigh rides through his abdominals. We’re so close. The muscles in his body move against mine. The expired air from his breath dashes across my lips.
“You andIwould’ve made the perfect team, Chevelle. But you can’t trade one bad guy for another. It hurt to my fucking core that I couldn’t invest in you.”
“Invest in me?” I press at his chest, suddenly angered by Michie’s reluctance to support my brewery.
When I start to move away, he advances on me, imprisoning me. “Yes! Invest in you, Chevelle. That’s all I’ve wanted to do since I saw the dynamic way you interact with people.”
“Oh, just let me go,” I grumble.
“Listen to me, Chevelle! I craved the thought of investing in you. To take you from him. To be the focus of your love, to cultivate your strengths similar to how I’ve done at work.”
I cork a brow. “But you’re a bad guy too? All I’m surrounded by are assholes?”
“The yakuza own my name, Chevelle. They own me. So, I can’t have you. And you still love your husband. Tell me you don’t!”
“Yup. I love him, and I love hard.” I poise my hand into a gun. “You got a burner I can borrow, Michie?”
“No, sweetheart.” His hand glides to the small of my back. “There’s something else I have for you—a promise. The next time I see you, my friend, it will be because you’d like me to claim you. You’re a beautiful, bittersweet reminder of what I gave up many moons ago. But if you ever return, I will refuse to let you go, no matter the cost.”
Chapter 44
Leith
There werecops and fire trucks all over the scene when I arrived home at five a.m. I couldn’t even turn down my ownfeckin’street. Now, I’m seated in my Audi parallel parked in front of my parents’ home. I’m not sure how I drove here. Had I got on the freeway? Stopped at red lights? How thefeckdid I get here?
The past claws at my mind. Guilt threatens never to let me go.
I was fourteen. Camdyn was a weefecker, had a few missing teeth too. He’d been crying. Brody had broken his water gun—told him to man up. I grabbed Cam’s cheeks, telling him how we were gonna beat up Little Brody. Mybrathairwas cursing up a storm in his squeaky voice, shocked about how we called ‘em Little Brody. He said ourbrathairwas huge. That was the first and last time I ever saw him full of doubt.
I remember saying, “Do ye trust me, Cam?”
Though he was a dark, broodynugget, Camdyn’s cheeks burned red. He shouted, “Yes!”
“Are we gonna bring thatnumptydown?”