Chapter 15

When Gretchen’s taxi pulled up to Buchanan Manor several days later, she did a double take. She knew that having the charity event at the house was a big move for him, but it took seeing the throngs of people and the endless line of limos curving up the driveway to impress into her mind just how much of an effort he was making.

She smoothed her little black dress nervously. He’d made an effort. Had she done enough? She pulled out a compact and checked her hair. Her upsweep—so different from her normal messy ponytail—still looked perfect thanks to Audrey’s help, and she had a yellow rose tucked behind one ear. It was the only accessory she wore, and she hoped it was enough. Her dress was plain since she didn’t have the money in her bank account to buy something. But she’d had a dress in the back of her closet that was simple, but elegant. It was a black dress with tight, elbow-length sleeves, shirred sides, and a boatneck collar. It made her red hair stand out, and she knew Hunter liked her hair.

Staff in white shirts with black ties opened the doors to the house to let her in. Had he hired more staff only for the party? Or was this a new change? She thought she recognized a few of the women wandering the room with trays as the housecleaners, but she didn’t approach them for fear of making them uncomfortable. Instead, she mingled with the crowd and scanned the room. Buchanan Manor looked as gorgeous as ever, but it was unnerving seeing it full of guests. She was used to seeing the rooms empty and silent.

Oddly enough, the house no longer felt lonely.

As she pushed through the throngs of people, a woman whirled past her with a tray and then turned. “Would you like a hors d’oeuvres—oh, Gretchen! Hello!” She broke into a smile.

“Brandy, how are you?” Gretchen smiled back at her. She recognized the maid from her excursions into the cleaning wings. Brandy was fond of Gretchen’s banana nut bread and always talked about how much her children enjoyed Gretchen’s cooking.

“Busy,” she said, offering Gretchen a fig-covered confection from her tray. “But happy. There’s been lots of changes in this house in the last two weeks.”

“Oh? What kind of changes?” She pretended to be casual, though anticipation strummed through her body at the thought. Had Hunter made changes because he wanted to impress her? Why did that make her positively giddy?

“Well, first of all, he got rid of that nasty assistant of his.”

Gretchen grinned. “So I heard.”

“Yup. From what I hear, he’s got three assistants now. Two localized here in the house and one at the office.”

“Three. That seems like a big change.”

“It is. And that’s not all. That man of yours hired more staff and gave the rest of us a raise.” She patted her pocket. “I got a Christmas bonus, too.”

“That’s wonderful,” Gretchen said with a smile. “But I don’t know that he’s my man. I—”

But Brandy was already on her way to the next group, a cheery smile on her face. “Hi there. Hors d’oeuvres?”

Her man. Gretchen popped the appetizer into her mouth and tasted the words. Her man. She liked that. Did he miss her like she missed him? God, she hoped so or this was going to get awkward, fast. She turned around and sucked in a breath.

There he was, at the center of the room, in the thick of the party. He looked pained and uncomfortable . . . and utterly gorgeous. A black tuxedo fit him to the nines, and his hair had been cut recently, his new hairstyle keeping his hair off his forehead and giving him a slightly rakish air. He stood with a group of people, a flute of champagne in his hand. A stiff-looking silver-haired couple were talking to him animatedly, and he kept a polite smile on his face even though he looked a bit trapped.

She giggled at that, even as her fingers curled with the need to touch him. Instead, she just watched him from a distance, enjoying his every move, noting the way his cheek pulled when his mouth curved into a lopsided smile. How could anyone think of that raw, masculine, delicious man as anything but beautiful? She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Then he turned, and his attention seemed to head unerringly for her. His gaze lit up.

Gretchen’s feet felt glued to the floor. She should go over and say hello to him. Interrupt the conversation he was having. Something. Anything. Instead, she stood there like a dummy, her brain unable to work.

Hunter was having a party and entertaining people. Her Hunter. He was breaking out of his self-imposed exile. Was this all for her?

How could she possibly be mad at a man who was going to such lengths to prove to her that he could be the man she needed him to be? He’d manipulated her—and others—with his influence, that was true, but now she understood why. He’d never thought that she’d be interested in him, never thought she would give him the time of day, so he’d done the only thing he could do to bring her close. And while it was low-down, dirty, and craven . . . she understood it and even felt a twinge of sympathy for him that he’d felt the need to go so very far for something as simple and basic as human need for another person.

He extricated himself from the conversation, handed his glass to a passing waiter, and strolled toward her, adjusting the front of his tuxedo jacket as if to make sure he looked his best. She found that utterly charming. Here was Hunter Buchanan, the most sexy, glorious, powerful man in the room, and he was making sure he looked good enough for her.

It was a heady feeling.

He walked up to her, reached out, and then dropped his hand. A hint of unease flashed across his face but he couldn’t seem to stop looking at her. “Gretchen. You look . . . lovely.”

She smiled at him, shifting when someone passed too close to them. “Hi, Hunter.” She didn’t know what to say. This hadn’t been a problem she’d had often. Normally words just ran right out of her mouth whether she wanted them to or not. A tall, slinky woman strolled past, her tight bandage gown glittering with sequins. “I seem to be underdressed.”

“On the contrary,” Hunter said. “You’re the most gorgeous thing in this room. You don’t need flash to improve your beauty. Just your smile.”

She couldn’t resist smiling at that. “You flirt.”

He flushed a little.

“Nice party,” she told him, stepping aside as another couple moved past them. The room was positively packed. “You did well.”

“I did it for you,” he told her in a voice so low she almost didn’t catch it.

She swallowed hard. “You did, huh?”

“All for you. Everything. I want to prove to you that . . . I can be who you need me to be.”

She shook her head. “Hunter, all I’ve ever needed was—” She paused as someone in the crowd called his name. “Maybe this is a bad time.”

“Not a bad time,” he told her with a growl, and then he was at her side, cupping her elbow and steering her through the crowd. “Come with me.”

They wound silently through the throng and escaped down a back hallway—the north wing. Hunter’s wing. At the sight of the familiar paintings hanging on the wall, she felt a sharp stab of longing. If they continued down a second hallway, they’d get to his room. Was his bed lonely without her? Was this thing they had too broken to be fixed? Had she been too hard on him when she should have been understanding as to what drove him?

Hunter stopped in front of the large windows at the far end of the hall, where the corridor split and branched toward Hunter’s suite of rooms. From here, the wintry gardens were visible and the evergreen bushes were peeking out from under a blanket of snow. His hand lifted as if he wanted to reach for her and he just as quickly drew back.

“You’re well?” he asked in a clipped voice, clasping his hands behind his back and glancing out the window.

“Actually, no,” she told him. When he turned to her with a stricken look, she said, “There’s this guy who kind of broke my heart. He lied to me and sabotaged my work just so I could stay around him a bit longer.”

The look on his face was tense, his expression intent as he focused on her. “And would you have gone out with me? Not knowing me? Not knowing who I was except for this?” He gestured at the deep gouges scarring his face. “How am I supposed to believe that? People turn away at the sight of me.”

His sadness and pain broke her heart. “Oh, Hunter. Just because most people are shallow assholes doesn’t mean that I am.”

“But how would I know this?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” she said briskly. “We’ll never know that, because you manipulated the situation and lied to me. You messed with my career. You can’t just make up jobs to bring people into your life.”

“You can still have the money, you know,” he told her quietly. “I never meant to force you to choose between your happiness and me.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “It’s not about the money, Hunter. When will you get that? It’s about you and me and trust. How can I trust that you’re not pulling strings behind the scenes again anytime something goes my way?”

“How can I trust that you truly want me for who I am and not what I am?” There was a wealth of pain in his voice.

“Oh, Hunter. You have to have faith in me.” She moved forward and gently cupped his cheek, feeling the grooves of the scars.

He closed his eyes as if in ecstasy, his hand moving to hold hers there. “I love you so much, Gretchen. Please don’t leave me again.”

“Then trust me.”

His eyes opened. “It’s hard for me to trust.”

An amused smile curved her mouth. “I get that you’re damaged, but how do you think I feel knowing you’ve been manipulating things since day one?”

He flinched, and she could feel it against her palm. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know. And that’s why I’ve come back.” Her thumb lightly stroked over the jagged scar that twisted at the corner of his mouth. “It was the only way you knew how to reach out to me. I forgive you for that.”

He leaned in and kissed the heel of her hand.

“I still haven’t forgiven you for the sabotage of my laptop, though,” she said lightly. “That was kind of low.”

“I didn’t realize Eldon was going to do that,” he told her. “I just wanted him to delay you.”

“Oh, he delayed me all right. Killed my contract dead in the water.”

Hunter winced, but his fingers stroked the back of her hand. He still held her palm to his cheek, as if fearful that if he released her, she’d slip out of his grasp again. “The files were recovered, by the way. I can send you the information.”

She shrugged. “I’m a lot happier without writing, honestly. It’s not a profession I’m very good at. The constant deadlines drive me crazy, and if I have to write one more astronaut story I just might jump off your balcony. Without the contracts, I’m pretty broke but I’m also a lot happier—and less stressed—than I’ve been in a long time.”

“Preston will be sorry to hear that. He contacted me the other day and suggested that if you didn’t want to do the epistolary novel that perhaps you’d be interested in doing a cookbook. He loved your cooking at the dinner party.”

“A cookbook, huh?” She gave him a skeptical look. “Your idea?”

He grinned and released her hand. “It was all him, I’m afraid. For once, I had nothing to do with it.”

“I’ll think about it,” she told him softly, though in her mind she was already racing through her favorite recipes. Well, she’d let Hunter stew on it for a bit before deciding. Gretchen reached forward and slid a finger along Hunter’s lapel. “So what about the letters?”

He leaned into her touch, stepping forward. His hands went to her shoulders. “They were simply a means to an end.”

“Were they real? All those dirty, naughty things they wrote to each other?”

“They were real,” he told her. “Just not in this house.”

“I’m glad. I like to think that those two were crazy in love for so long and that they eventually get together. They do, don’t they? Get together and have a happy ever after?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t read far enough.”

She snuggled into his embrace, sighing. “I like to think that they did. I feel like their story is ours, just a little. Two lovers separated and reunited.”

“Their story’s not ours,” he told her in a husky voice, his fingers brushing at a lock of her hair. “I want us to make our story, not follow someone else’s.”

Her heart melted a little at that, and she curled her fingers into his jacket, tugging him close enough to kiss her. “You hurt me bad, you know.”

“I’m changing. For you, I’ll change everything I am.” His intense gaze swept over her face. “I meant it, Gretchen. I love you. It doesn’t matter to me if you love me or not. Just stay.”

“Well, it’s a good thing for you that I love you, too.”

His eyes warmed. He brushed a finger along her jawline. “Do you mean it?”

She thwacked him on the shoulder. “We’re going to have to get past this trust thing. Of course I mean it. Why would I lie to you after all this?”

A wide grin crossed his face. “I just never thought I would be so lucky.” His fingers moved over her lips and he pressed a kiss to her mouth.

It was a soft, gentle kiss, and it was over far too soon. All it did was stoke a fire in her belly that was impossible to put out. She moaned when he pulled away. “You want to see how lucky you can be?” she murmured to him.

“Always.”

She took his hand and led him toward the greenhouse.

As soon as they shut the door behind them, he wrapped an arm around her waist. She closed her eyes and leaned into his embrace, taking in the lush scents of the rows upon rows of roses and the smell of damp earth.

“Tell me I am not dreaming,” Hunter whispered against her neck, pressing kisses there. “That you’re truly in my arms and I’m forgiven.”

“I’ll just pinch you instead,” she told him playfully, sliding out of his arms and turning to face him. “Got a preference as to where?”

“Don’t care.” He grasped her hips and pulled her against him so she could feel the hard length of his desire against her. “I want you, Gretchen. So badly.”

She smiled and sauntered away, passing by the black table that he did the more delicate gardening on. While most of the roses grew in large, deep pots, he had seedlings and a scatter of tools on the table at all times. Currently there were rows and rows of carefully planted seedlings marching across the table and taking up almost all of the space.

Gretchen ran a finger along the edge of the table. “Kind of a shame that this is occupied. I can think of some naughty uses for such a nice, flat surface.”

Hunter moved past her and, before she could protest, he lowered his arm and raked everything off the table in a loud crash. Plants tumbled to her feet, splashing dirt on her serviceable black sandals. A long smear of dirt marred his expensive tuxedo.

Then he stood there, watching her with intense eyes, breathing deep.

She kicked off her shoes, her panties growing wet at his impulsive move. A man who would destroy hours of careful work simply because he wanted to fuck her on the table? Hot. She tsked at him. “You’re ruining your jacket. I think it needs to come off.”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed, and he shrugged the jacket off his shoulders, dropping it to the ground. His gaze never left her.

Mmmm. His intensity was doing delicious things to her. Her pulse throbbed low, her sex growing slick. She moved forward, edging between him and the table. “My, you’re quite responsive today, aren’t you?”

He captured her hand when she reached for his bowtie. His other hand slid under her dress and pressed up against her now-wet panties. “You’re ruining these,” he whispered huskily, turning her words against her. “I think they need to come off.”

Gretchen moaned at the feel of his hand there. “How quickly the tables turn,” she breathed. Excitement was rushing through her and she wriggled against his hand, unable to resist pressing her mound against his fingers. “If I take them off, are you going to fuck me on this table?”

“Yes.” His eyes gleamed. “And it won’t be polite.”

Her hands trembled as she reached for the hem of her dress. “No?”

“It’s going to be hard and rough,” he murmured, sliding his fingers up her mound to drag down the fabric of her panties in a possessive gesture. “You’ll probably scream my name a few times.”

“Oh, wow,” she said, dazed at his words. Her thighs clenched in excitement. “When you take control, you really take control, don’t you?”

“Is that a problem?”

“God, no.”

“Good. I want you, and I don’t want to wait another minute,” he murmured, dragging her panties down her thighs. She obediently spread her legs so he could tug them downward, and then she let them slide to the greenhouse floor and kicked them aside.

As soon as she did, his hands were on her hips and he lifted her to the table surface. She perched on the edge, her breathing rushed and excited. Lordy, this was hot.

He pushed her backward a little, and then he hiked up her dress, exposing her pussy. She sucked in a breath when he placed his mouth on her. “Oh, Hunter.” Her fingers curled in his hair. “You are way too good at that.”

He didn’t respond, but simply tongued her clit harder, his fingers spreading the lips of her sex to expose her fully to his mouth.

She whimpered at the barrage of sensations, her hips flexing involuntarily. Her hands scrambled for something to hold on to, to brace herself on, but there was nothing but Hunter. She moaned when his tongue circled her clit with fierce little circles, her fingers tangling in his hair again. “Need you so bad, baby,” she breathed.

He jerked up, and his face looked furious for a moment. “Damn it.”

Fear suddenly flooded through her. “What is it?”

“Condoms. Don’t have one.”

Relief swam through her. “Is that all? Fuck it.” Her legs dragged around his shoulders, hooking him in place. “I’ll get on the Pill.”

“But today—”

“Today,” she murmured, “just pull out. Come on my belly.”

His groan of need was loud and brutal. “You sure?” he asked even as he continued to drag her dress up her body, exposing her all the way to her bra.

“God, yes. I need you inside me.” She squeezed her hips again. “Right now.”

That was all the incentive he needed. Hunter stood and she heard his zipper before he pulled her hips down to the edge of the table. She felt his cock against her entrance, and then he hammered into her with a single move.

Her groan of pleasure matched his.

“I love you, Gretchen,” he gritted out, even as he began to thrust into her with rough strokes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He sounded wild, out of control, and it excited her even more. Each pounding stroke slammed her into the table and sent a wave of intense pleasure through her. She whimpered again, digging her fingernails into his shoulders as he continued to ram into her, his thrusts hard just like he promised.

And when she began to come, she did, in fact, scream his name.

He bit out a curse when she began to clench around him, and he pulled out of her. A moment later, hot seed splashed on her stomach as he stroked his cock, groaning.

She lay still beneath him as he finished, and when he was done, he inhaled deeply, opened his eyes, and fixed his intense gaze on her. His cheeks flooded with color. “I think I ruined your dress.”

“Or gave me a great excuse not to go back to the party,” she told him languidly. Man, she felt amazing now. She didn’t even mind that she had dirt in her hair. “But I suppose you have to go back, right?”

“Hell no,” he growled, tearing off his bowtie and then unbuttoning his shirt. When he pulled it off, he began to towel his cum off her stomach. “They can all leave as far as I’m concerned. I’m not letting you get away from me ever again.”

She smiled up at him. “You say the sweetest things, you sexy beast.”

“I mean every word of it,” he told her, his eyes serious. “I love you. You have no idea how much.”

Emotion clogged her throat as she sat up on the table. She carefully put her hands on each side of his face and gently kissed him. “I might love you more.”

He grinned, a boyish smile of delight crossing his face that made her heart clench with emotion. “Using this table might have been a regrettable action.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” she said in a low, purring voice. “I feel pretty good.”

“I destroyed all of the roses I was working on for you, though. The crossbreeds.”

She shrugged and wrapped her arms around his bare shoulders. “Guess I’ll have to stick around for the next batch.”

“It might take months before they’re ready again.”

“I’m in no rush,” she said softly. “I plan on being at your side for quite a while.”

He smiled.

Keep reading for a special peek at the next Billionaire Boys Club novel

THE WRONG BILLIONAIRE’S BED

Available October 2013 from InterMix

Audrey glanced in the bathroom mirror, smoothed a stray lock of hair into her tight bun, and then sucked in a deep breath.

Time to approach the boss.

She left the bathroom, her nerves tingling with a mixture of dread and wariness. Not that her outward expression showed it. She was very good about remaining calm and in control in a situation, and this was definitely a situation. Her low heels clicking on the marble floors of Hawkings Conglomorate’s headquarters, she swept the mail out of the delivery basket and returned to her desk. Once she’d sorted all the envelopes for Logan’s personal attention, she rubber-banded the rest and set them into her mailbox to attend to later.

Her hand paused over the tabloid on her desk. After a moment’s indecision, she folded the magazine in half lengthwise and tucked it under her arm. Then, with mail in hand, she headed to Logan Hawkings’s closed door and rapped twice.

“Enter,” he called.

She did, her stomach churning just a bit.

He didn’t look up as she approached, continuing to type on his laptop. As was their usual routine, Audrey moved to his outbox and picked up any outgoing memos or faxes that he needed her to handle. She slipped his personal mail into his inbox, picked up his faxes, and glanced over at him. But she couldn’t make her mouth form the request.

So she stalled. “Coffee, Mr. Hawkings?”

“Thank you.”

She moved to the Keurig machine in her adjoining office and brewed him a cup, waiting impatiently for the machine to finish. Once it was done, she sweetened it, added creamer, and stirred, all the while mentally cursing herself for not broaching the conversation yet. She returned to his office with the cup in hand and set it on his desk.

Again, he didn’t look up.

“Dry cleaning today, Mr. Hawkings?”

“No.” He picked up the mug and gave her a suspicious look. “Something wrong?”

And here she thought she’d hidden it so well. Audrey clutched the folded tabloid in her hand, hesitating in front of his desk. “I . . . need some time off.”

Logan frowned. “Time off?”

Just as she’d thought, it hadn’t gone over well. In the three and a half years since she’d been working for Logan Hawkings, she’d never missed a day of work. She was here before he was, left after he did, and took her vacation time concurrent with his so as not to disrupt his schedule.

She was the model employee. She kept things quiet and running as smoothly as possible for Mr. Hawkings. When he needed something handled, she took care of it.

And she never asked for time off until today.

Audrey swallowed. “I’m afraid so.”

“How much time off?”

“I . . . don’t know. It’s a personal matter.” Very quietly she unfolded the tabloid and offered it to him.

Logan tossed it down on his desk, eyeing the picture on the cover. The headline was a bold yellow that screamed out of the grainy photo. POP PRINCESS CAUGHT IN A COKE-FUELED ORGY! PICTURES ON PAGE 17! And there was the unmistakable face of her twin, blade-thin, her hair matted and dyed a hideous shade of black, a dopey smile on her face as she snorted lines in a club bathroom and leaned on an equally dopey-looking pair of men. Audrey didn’t know who they were. She never knew who Daphne ran with anymore. Daphne’s manager handled all that . . . theoretically. She suspected Daphne’s manager took care of his own needs first, and Daphne’s second.

Logan glanced at the magazine, then back up at her. “Your sister?”

She nodded succinctly. “I understand that this is an inconvenience, but I’ve taken extra precautions to ensure that your schedule is not interrupted. I talked with Cathy in personnel, and she’s agreed to send a temp for me to train on the daily duties.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll make sure she’s prepared before I leave. I’ll have my phone with me so you can contact me—or she can—if you need something. And I’ve made sure that your address book and calendar are up to date. The meeting next week—”

“It’s fine, Audrey. Take the time you need.” He folded the magazine and offered it back to her. “I take it you’re getting her some help?”

She took it from him, her fingers trembling with a rush of relief. “She refuses to go to rehab, but she’s agreed to go away for a time if I go with her. No parties, no drugs. I’m basically going to chaperone her and try to get her to sober up.” She hesitated. “It might be a few weeks. It might be longer. If that’s a problem—”

“It’s fine.”

“If you need personal errands run—”

“I said it’s fine, Audrey.” Now he was getting annoyed with her. She could tell by the set of his eyebrows. “If I have personal errands, I’ll ask Brontë to step in and help. It’s not a big deal. Take the time that you need. Your family comes first.”

Your family comes first. Those were the kind of words that she’d never thought she’d hear billionaire Logan Hawkings say. His fiancée must have mellowed him quite a bit. She nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Hawkings. I’ll make the arrangements with personnel.”

“Close the door when you leave.” He turned back to his computer and began to type again.

She quietly exited his office, then shut the door behind her. Only when it was shut did she allow herself to lean against it, the breath whistling out of her in relief.

That had gone much better than she’d anticipated. He was mellowed out, indeed. Two years ago—heck, six months ago—Logan would have given a few thinly veiled hints that if she’d valued her job, she’d find a way to make things happen. He paid her very well, and if she couldn’t find a way to perform her job to his satisfaction, he’d find someone who could.

Of course, that was BH—Before Hurricane. And before Brontë. Still, Audrey hadn’t relished asking him for the favor. Logan knew Daphne was her twin as he’d met her at a rather unfortunate dinner party once. Most people didn’t know she had a twin, and Audrey didn’t volunteer the information. She’d learned the hard way that the conversation usually went in one of three directions:

Scenario one: Oh, my God. You’re related to Daphne Petty? The Daphne Petty? The singer? Can you get me her autograph? Free tickets? A visit to my kid’s birthday party?

Scenario two: Daphne Petty? Really? You don’t look anything like her. She’s so thin and glamorous. You’re . . . not.

Or scenario three: Daphne Petty? You poor thing. Is she really like that?

Scenario one was simply annoying, but she’d learned to deflect it a long time ago. No, she couldn’t get free swag/tickets/CDs of Daphne’s latest. No, she couldn’t have Daphne show up at someone’s birthday party. She kept business cards of the manager of Daphne’s fan club and handed them out when pressed.

Scenario two was irritating, but again, she’d learned to deal with it a long time ago. Stage Daphne dressed in colorful outfits and thick makeup. She never left her car without six-inch heels, a thick fringe of fake eyelashes, and her hair dyed some wild shade. She’d gone Hollywood thin years ago at her label’s suggestion (though secretly Audrey suspected it was the drugs more than a healthy diet) and it was just another way that Audrey no longer looked like her twin.

Audrey’s hair was straight, smooth, and a pale orangey-red that hadn’t faded when childhood did. Her skin was still lightly freckled, which was only obvious when she didn’t wear makeup. She never wore much, either—it would have looked out of place with her conservative business suits. And she was several sizes larger than Daphne. Where her twin had been a svelte size two, Audrey was soft, curvy, and just this side of plump. She didn’t wear false eyelashes or six-inch heels. She looked like Daphne, but only if someone squinted hard and compared photos.

She was used to being insulted about her looks and being asked for favors when it came to Daphne. But worst of all was scenario three: the pity. The look she’d come to recognize all too closely in the last two years. The look on someone’s face as they recalled one of the more recent tabloids with Daphne’s escapades splashed across them, including her stints of jail time, her public fiascos, and the rumors of drugs, alcohol, and men. The train wreck that bright, wild Daphne Petty had become.

And Audrey hadn’t been able to do a thing about it. She’d stood by helplessly as her headstrong twin pushed her away and embraced all that her fast-paced lifestyle had to offer.

It was killing her. And that was why Audrey hated the pity more than anything else. Because she desperately wanted to do something about it, and now she had the chance. Daphne had called her last night at three in the morning, crying from the back of a squad car. She’d called Audrey instead of her handlers, and though she’d been in LA instead of someplace that Audrey could have actually helped out with, her sister’s misery had broken her heart.

Daphne was reaching out to her. She wanted help. Not rehab, she said, because that would be all over the tabloids and she’d already been to rehab twice, both times without success. She just wanted a chance to get away and reconnect with her old life, with Audrey’s assistance. This time, Daphne swore, it was going to be different. This time she’d leave behind the drugs and alcohol, if Audrey would just help her out. She didn’t trust anyone else.

And so Audrey had promised to be there for Daphne. She’d go away with her twin. Put her life on hold and come to her twin’s aid once again. She’d soothed Daphne on the phone, and then quietly contacted her management about the most recent visit to the police station. Like most of Daphne’s incidents, they were able to make things disappear and her twin was released from custody and flying to New York in the morning.

And then Audrey would start the slow process of finding Daphne again. Hopefully.

***

Audrey nibbled on a pretzel stick, flipping the pages of the latest romance she’d picked up at the supermarket. She checked the clock, then sighed and dug back into the pretzel bag. It was late and she was in her pajamas. Daphne’s plane was supposed to have landed hours ago, and her twin had promised —promised—to come straight to Audrey’s apartment from the airport. Audrey had volunteered to meet her twin, but Daphne had demurred, laughing it off and claiming she knew her way around New York just fine.

Except that the later it got into the night, the more positive Audrey was that Daphne had made a few pit stops along the way. And it made her furious.

Some time after one a.m., she heard a knock at her door, followed by a giggle. Stifling her irritation, she headed to the door and checked the peephole. Sure enough, there was Daphne . . . along with a stranger. Audrey unchained the door, flipped the lock, and flung the door open to glare balefully at Daphne and her companion.

Daphne leaned heavily on a tall, skinny man wearing black clothes and enormous plugs in his ears. He had several brow rings, neck tattoos, and a bright green faux hawk. Daphne was, as usual, a disaster. Her jeans and T-shirt were stained, her hair a messy braid over one shoulder, and the small suitcase at her side had shed clothes all down the hall. They both leaned heavily to the side and couldn’t stop giggling despite Audrey’s clear displeasure.

They were drunk. Sloppy drunk.

“You were supposed to be here hours ago, Daphne,” Audrey told her. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

Daphne shrugged, pushing her way into Audrey’s apartment. “The flight sucked and made me all tense, so Stan and I went out for a nightcap.”

Audrey eyed Stan as Daphne staggered past her. When her date tried to follow, Audrey put a hand on his chest, stopping him. She gave him a polite smile. “Thanks for bringing her home.”

He grinned, showing a gold tooth. “Don’t I get to come in, too?”

“No, you don’t.”

He looked as if he’d argue, but then shrugged and began to head back to the elevator, too wasted to even realize he’d just abandoned his famous hookup. Audrey quickly shut the door and re-bolted it, then turned to glare at Daphne.

Her sister was facedown on Audrey’s couch.

“I don’t believe you, Daph,” Audrey said. “Drinking? Weren’t you coming out here to clean up?”

“Tomorrow,” Daphne mumbled from the couch, not bothering to get up. “I’m starting tomorrow. Quit yelling.”

“I’m not yelling!” Audrey bellowed, then winced when the neighbor pounded on the wall in response. Frustrated, Audrey grabbed Daphne’s suitcase and hauled it to the bedroom. Fine then. Her twin wanted to be like that? Audrey wouldn’t give her a choice in the matter. She’d simply have to take control again and save Daphne from herself.

Tossing the suitcase on her bed, she returned to the living room to grab Daphne’s purse. Daphne snored, oblivious to Audrey’s movements. Audrey snagged the purse, returned to the bed, and dumped the contents out.

The usual clutter fell onto the bedspread—half a protein bar, three lipsticks, a few pens, hair clips, and credit cards. Several prescription bottles fell out as well, and Audrey bit her lip, frowning as she read the names. Two of them weren’t hers.

She flushed those, along with the small baggy of white powder she found. Daphne would be pissed when she woke up, but Audrey didn’t care. Her twin could just get pissed.

Next, she searched the luggage and found several more pill bottles under different names, more drugs, and a thick packet tucked into the liner of her suitcase. It all went into the garbage, and with every item tossed, Audrey grew more and more determined.

Daphne wanted Audrey’s help in getting clean? She was willing to help, but she was pretty sure Daphne wasn’t going to appreciate it. And that was too damn bad for Daphne, because Audrey was in this for the long haul.

She returned to the living room and watched Daphne. Makeup was smeared across Daphne’s delicate features, and her mouth hung open as she slept.

Audrey would get her twin back. No ifs, ands, or buts. Daphne would be furious and threaten her, but it didn’t matter.

Audrey had to do this once and for all, because it felt as if she’d already lost Daphne.

Jessica Clare also writes as Jill Myles and Jessica Sims. As Jessica Clare, she writes sexy contemporary romance.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 532