Afterburn (12 page)

Sliding the door open, I was hit with the full force of Vincent’s rocking sound system and the sight of him doing pull-up crunches via a metal pole he’d mounted between two supporting pillars. He was drenched with sweat and gritting his teeth, the slabs of muscle on his stomach tightening as he brought his knees up to his chest. He wore his hair shorter than my other brothers, nearly a crew cut, and it suited his classically Italian features.

I’d read books that compared the hero to a face on a Roman coin, but I guarantee none of them had anything on Vincent. Shirtless, shoeless and wearing only running shorts, he was the stuff other women’s dreams were made of. Unlike Nico, Vincent was a serial boyfriend. He had no problem committing, but he never stayed off the market for longer than several months at a time.

“Hey!” he protested, when I turned the volume down.

“You still talk to Deanna?” I asked, referring to the reporter he used to date.

“Yeah.” He dropped to the hardwood floor and snatched up the towel waiting there alongside a bottle of water. “Why?”

I set my purse down on the bench by the door and kicked off my shoes. “I need someone to catch me up on the Rutledges.”

Vincent scrubbed at his hair, scowling. “The guy’s a douche. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I won’t argue with that.” I sprawled across the couch and stared up at the exposed pipes and beamed ceiling. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t be redeemed.”

“Forget the rehab. Find a guy who’s smart enough to know what he has from the get-go.”

I glanced at him, watching his throat work as he chugged the entire bottle of water. “You telling me you never screwed up with a girl and wanted a second chance?”

“Doesn’t count. You’re a Rossi. There’s no excuse for him screwing up besides being stupid,” he said.

“Will you ask her?”

“Fine.” He headed toward the kitchen, adding, “Only because I hope she digs up something that convinces you he’s bad news.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t think you’re getting the favor for a simple thanks.” He tossed his towel over his shoulder and washed his hands. The kitchen was the most finished part of the apartment, with brand-new stainless-steel appliances, chef’s cooktop, double wall ovens and a massive workstation island with sink. “I’ve got a basket of laundry that needs washing.”

I sat up. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. Better hurry.” He grinned. “I’m out of Rossi’s T-shirts and my shift starts in two hours.”

* * *

I’
D
JUST
CLOSED
the louvered doors that concealed the washer and dryer when I heard my smartphone ringing. I ran to my bedroom to grab it, but missed the call. Didn’t matter, though, because it immediately started ringing again.

It was Jax.

Taking a deep breath, I touched Answer on the screen and said, “Hey.”

“You were supposed to call,” he accused.

“So were you,” I retorted. “Took you two years to get around to it.”

“Jesus.” He exhaled harshly. “Why did you leave?”

“It was time. Your dad invited us to dinner.”

“We’re not going.”

I shrugged. “I’ll go without you.”

“The hell you will! Damn it, Gia. You’re swimming with sharks and acting like you’re on vacation.”

“I’m definitely seeing things I’ve never seen before. Like those pictures you’ve got framed in your pad. How long have you been following me? Creepy, by the way.”

He cursed. “You’re fucking a Rutledge. Surveillance and invasion of privacy come with the territory.”

“I wasn’t fucking you at the time that picture in your office was taken.”

“You were in my office? What the hell, Gia?”

My mouth curved grimly at his inadvertent admission that there were more photos I hadn’t found. “I’m going to be in every aspect of your life—get used to it.”

Jax was silent for a long minute, then quietly asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m processing the fact that you’re in love with me, Jax.” I heard his breath catch and felt a surge of pleasured triumph. “Still, you bailed on me. And now you’re sabotaging my work and your own chances with me.”

“Gia—”

“I’m on to you, Jackson Rutledge.” My voice was low and hard, unwavering. “I’m going to figure you out.”

“I’m an open book,” he retorted.

“You’re a head trip.” I ignored the waiting suitcase on my bed and sat at my desk instead. I woke my computer with a shake of the mouse. “And your mystery-man days are numbered.”

I hung up, shut off the ringer and started my research.

* * * * *

Sexy, contemporary romance stories for today's fun, fearless women.

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Published 15 November 2013.

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AFTERBURN

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