Billion Dollar Beast - Olivia Hayle Page 0,58

more than he’s ever told me about his past. “That sounds painful,” I say carefully.

“It was, a bit. My pride hurt more. I got a sound ass-kicking.” He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “And when women ask about it, well, I usually leave that part out. I just say that it’s from fighting. And then…”

He doesn’t need to continue. I understand—I can see the vision clear enough. They come to him seeking one thing, only knowing one thing about him, and he delivers. He gives them the narrative. Scarred palms, intense demeanor, rough sex. No relationships and no strings attached.

For a moment, I waver between pain and pity. I settle somewhere in the middle, reaching out to grasp his hand in mine. “And they don’t want you to be gentle.”

“No.”

And perhaps there’s more we don’t say. They don’t actually want me, he might add, were he a more talkative man. They want the fiction. I might have asked more, if I had been braver. But for now, this is enough.

I rise up on my elbow and trace a finger along his brow, down across a nose I now realize must have been broken at some point, over his lips and the rough cut of his jaw. “You said earlier that you stayed away from me out of self-preservation.”

“I did,” he says.

“I can’t promise I won’t hurt you, either. No one has that power. But… I don’t want to. I don’t want to come between you and Cole. I don’t want anything we do to affect your business.” My words run out, my mouth widening into a smile. “All I can say is that the time when you were my biggest source of irritation is long, long gone.”

“Funny, that,” he says, pulling me closer. “You’re not so irritating anymore, either.”

“No?”

“No.” He kisses my still-smiling lips, silencing any further comment. I don’t mind. Kissing is far preferable.

And for the first time, he spends the night.

19

Nick

Blair’s hair takes up the better half of her pillow. In the low sunlight streaming in through her window, it’s gold over white cotton, gleaming. One bare shoulder peeks out from underneath the cover. Despite the lateness of the season, her skin still carries the summer’s tan.

She’s breathtaking.

I turn my gaze away from her sleeping form to the overflowing walk-in-closet. The cacophony of colors and fabrics and sequins feels like an apt description of Blair herself. Overflowing with ideas and sparkle.

I run a hand through my hair. Spending the night at a woman’s place. When had that happened last? I honestly can’t recall—and this hadn’t even been a conscious decision. I must have drifted off and then slept like the dead. It should leave me well-rested, but the idea is unsettling.

I feel disarmed.

Pushing back the covers, I walk out of her bedroom and into the colorful living room beyond.

Coffee. Phone. Focus.

I find a coffee machine in the kitchen and my phone in the pocket of my discarded jacket. There’s a text waiting for me from Cole.

I push the phone away without looking at what he’s written. The coffee washes some of the guilt away, but not all, the taste bitter and acidic.

He would not react well to this. The knowledge feels as obvious to me as my own name, as clear as the scars in my palm. Being with Blair would irrevocably change our friendship. Even if he grows to accept it—by some miracle of God—I’d always be the friend who went behind his back. Who didn’t tell him straight up.

And if Blair ever had to choose between her brother and me…

Well. I take another sip of the scalding-hot coffee. I know where I’d end up in that equation. The path I’m on won’t have a happy ending, and getting off it is the sensible choice, but I can’t for the life of me imagine walking away from Blair now.

Not when the scent of her still clings to my skin and the sweetness of her words echoes in my mind. I want you.

Impossible? Try out of the damn question.

While she sleeps, I explore her apartment. The small knickknacks she’s collected. A framed picture of her and her late father skiing, his hand protectively on her shoulder. Skye and Cole’s wedding picture is proudly placed in her bookshelf. I’m not surprised that she has that on display. The image of Blair with tear-glittering eyes comes back to me, her reaction to Skye’s pregnancy.

I pause with my hand on a half-opened door. How had I not seen this