Busted (Barnes Brothers #3) (24 page)

“Probably.” Travis looked cheerful. “You going to answer the question? I can always call Mom. I bet she’s heard of this L. Forrester person. I’ll see what she . . .”

“It’s romance. Okay? Aliesha wanted me to try something different.”

Travis’s face, still lit with teasing laughter, slowly sobered.

Sighing, Trey turned away. “Don’t look like that. Okay? I started working on it a couple of years after she died. It was . . . therapy. The first idea was something I bullshitted over with her, and she told me I should try it. I decided to and my editor liked it, but the imprint doesn’t do romance, so we went with another imprint at my publishing house. It did well. I had fun with it, so we did another. And . . .”

He stopped, shrugged. “I like those
cry me a river
books,” he said, sliding his brother a dour look. “It’s what I’m good at. But every once in a while, I want to do something different. This is. And apparently I don’t suck at it.”

“Are you still doing it for Aliesha?” Travis studied him.

Trey glared at him.

Holding up his hands, Travis said, “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m trying to understand, trying to help. I loved her, too. I . . . I just . . .” He stopped and looked away. “But I see how you looked at Ressa. If you’re doing this for Aliesha . . . ?”

“It’s not for Aliesha. She’s part of my past, but Ressa . . .” Trey didn’t even have to think about it. His heart ached just thinking about Ressa. It ached, even as a smile seemed to fill every empty part of him. “I look at her and I hurt. I look at her and I want things I thought I’d never want again. I didn’t think I’d ever feel that way again.”

He turned away, putting the laptop on his desk as he moved to the window. Shoving the window open, he unlatched the screen and leaned out.

He needed air.

A good twenty yards away was the dark, looming presence of Nadine’s house, and as he stood there, he thought he saw one of her curtains flicker, then fall back into place. He scowled and then pointedly looked away.

Quietly, he said, “Aliesha’s gone, but I didn’t do this for
her
. It was for me. I needed to find a way to close the door, say good-bye . . . something. That’s what the first book was. The first chapter was the first step in letting go . . . it just took me a while to figure that out.”

Travis was quiet.

He was quiet for so long, Trey started to wonder if he’d slipped out.

But when he turned, he saw his brother standing exactly where he had been. “Can I suggest you do something else for you, then?”

Trey narrowed his eyes.

Travis shrugged. “The kid’s asleep. He’ll stay that way until you wake him up. Chances are Ressa’s little girl is sleeping, too. Why don’t you go spend some time with your woman, Trey?”

He opened his mouth, but Travis cut him off. “Both of you have kids you have to keep in mind. I can stay here with him. The two of you need to grab some time for yourself and stop dancing around each other like cats.”

Brooding, Trey went to shake his head.
Not a good idea
. Of course, his entire body was already hard at the thought, blood thrumming in his veins.

“Go on,” Travis said. “You should have seen your face when I told you nobody called, and don’t act like you weren’t expecting her to call. Go see her. Take some time for you.”

For a long moment, Trey stared at his brother and then, without saying another word, he headed for the door.

“By the way . . .”

Trey paused in the doorway and looked back.

“I already knew your little secret,” Travis said, grinning at him. “You have all those other books—the hot girl with the tie—up in the spare room. If you didn’t want me knowing, you should have locked the room or told me to stay out.”

Trey just flipped him off.

*   *   *

Hey . . . how are you doing?

She’d picked up the phone, stared at the text about a dozen times.

And about a dozen times, she’d almost called him, because she needed to hear his voice. She wanted to see him. But if they talked, he’d hear something in her voice, she knew it.

And this wasn’t something she could go into over the phone.

They needed to have
that
talk before she launched into a full-on sulk about the things from her past, and how her temperamental, and troubled, cousin still tangled up everything. So Ressa remained in her bed, curled up on her side and trying to pretend she could sleep, that the past few days hadn’t happened.

She stroked the screen of her phone like a talisman, keeping her thoughts on Trey. If she thought about him, she wouldn’t have to think about the fact that this weekend, she and Mama Ang would be going to see her cousin, and she’d find out just what that sly note in Kiara’s voice meant.

She needed to talk to him, though. See if he’d mind keeping Neeci with him. There were a few others she could leave her cousin with, but nobody she was as comfortable with and nobody that Neeci would like being with.

Whose fucking fault is that?
Kiara’s words rang in her ears. Groaning, she rolled onto her belly and buried her face in her pillow.

“Think about something else,” she told herself.

She shoved the phone call out of her mind, tried to think about Trey, but instead, her mind spun back.

Years back. Back to the time when everything had gone wrong.

*   *   *

“Wow.” Kiara stared around her for a long moment before looking at her cousin. “How are you affording this?”

She shrugged. “You ready to go?” On her way out the door, she grabbed her jacket but Kiara stopped her yet again, her eyes going wide at the buttery-soft leather jacket she’d pulled on.

“Oh . . . Ress. That is
nice
!”

“Thanks. Come on. We’re going to be late for the movie. We hardly ever go out anymore.”

“That’s because you’re always busy,” Kiara said, laughing as she gave the leather jacket one more envious stroke. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were out there following in your dad’s footsteps or something, the way you got this place fixed up, your clothes . . .”

“Very funny.” Ice skated up her spine, but she pushed it
away. “I don’t mess with that stuff. I told you that. And you better not either.”

It had taken her forever to get her life somewhat normal. She wouldn’t mess it up now.

“So are you working or what?”

“Would you let it go?” She glared at Kiara and herded her out the door, locking it behind her. They’d almost made it to Kiara’s car when a quick shout had them looking back.

“That your roommate?” Kiara asked as Hannah came jogging down the stairs, holding the cordless in her hand.

“Yeah.”

“Ress, if you cancel on me again, I’m never talking to you again,” Kiara said, a sulk threading its way in her voice.

“I’m not cancelling.” She wanted to go see a damn movie with her cousin.

Hannah was closer now and caught the last half of the conversation, her eyebrows going up. She paused, looking back and forth. “It’s . . . your boss,” she said after a pause. “They had a no-show and need you to come in. They’ll pay double tonight.”

“No.” She glared at Hannah and gestured to Kiara. “Let’s go. We’re going to be late.”

“But . . .”

“No.” She gave Hannah a hard look and hurried around the car. Kiara gave her an odd look as she slammed the door.

“You really got to tell me what kind of job this is—a place that pays double if you come in? I need that kind of job.”

*   *   *

It was almost two in the morning before she made it
home.

The memory of her movie date with her cousin wasn’t much more than a memory—that had been over a month ago and everything since then had been a blur of classes, dinners, parties—and very little sleep.

Maybe the dinners and parties would sound fun to some.

But when she had to do a cocktail party at three and then a dinner party that lasted until midnight, followed by a brunch that started at nine, on top of keeping up with her class load . . .

Sometimes she wished she’d never told Hannah she’d talk to her friend, Sharon.

“. . . that easy.”

That voice made her pause.

Sharon.

Speak of the devil.

She paused in the hallway, head cocked as she listened in.

The next voice had her shoving a door open and she gaped at the young woman sitting across from Sharon Hightower—the woman responsible for the money she now had in her bank account.

She didn’t know who was more surprised—herself, or her cousin.

Kiara recovered first, smiling widely at her. “Hey, Ress!”

“Kiara.” She set her jaw. “What are you doing here?”

Kiara stood up, nervously smoothing down a red dress that looked suspiciously familiar. It looked almost dead like the one
she
owned. “I came by to see if you wanted to grab dinner, but you weren’t here and . . .” She shrugged, tried for a smile. “I started talking to Hannah.”

She turned her attention to Hannah and the pretty blonde smiled. “She’s pretty, Ress. She asked some questions and I answered, then she wanted to know more so I asked Sharon over.”

“Yeah. And she’s smart and she doesn’t need to do this.” Fury pulsed inside her. Fury—and fear.

“Oh, come on . . .” Sharon spoke to Ressa for the first time, a pleasant smile on her face. “It’s harmless. Look at what it’s done for you.”

*   *   *

If she was as smart as she liked to think, Ressa would have punched Sharon Hightower in her pretty, perfect nose.

But she hadn’t.

Sighing, she snuggled deeper into her pillow, still clutching her phone like a talisman. Now . . .

The knock on the door caught her off guard.

Swallowing, she looked down at the workout gear she had on, her heart slamming hard against her ribs. Her head spun, bile churning its way up her throat, compliments of the memory
of that night. She’d thought if she pounded away her grievances on the treadmill, she’d feel better, but no luck.

There was another knock, harder this time and she swore, rising from her bed and moving toward the stairs. Whoever that was, he was going to wake Neeci up—

He
.

Her heart lurched up into her throat.

Even though her gut told her who it was, wariness had her approaching the door slowly, and she clutched her phone tighter as she paused a few feet away.

It was past ten now. Fears from childhood, old but not forgotten, rose up. A girl didn’t grow up the way she had without learning more than a little caution.

From several feet away, she called out, “Who is it?”

And at the same time, she moved to the antique table near the door and grabbed one of the ugly metal sculptures that Bruce had loved to collect. She always made fun of them, teased her stepfather about them, but after he died, getting rid of them had seemed impossible. Now, the solid weight of it felt good in her hand.

The sound of Trey’s voice made her heart race all that much harder. “It’s me.”

“Trey . . .” Her mouth went dry. Bracing one hand on the door, she leaned in, staring through the Judas hole centered on her door. He had his head bowed and it looked like he mirrored her pose, one hand braced on the door while he waited. Waited for what?

Dread twisted, shifted.

Aw, now . . . what is this shit? Don’t I have enough going on?

Hard times, girl, they will make you or they will break you
 . . . the echo of Mama Ang’s voice came up from the recesses of her mind, and she squared her shoulders before she reached out to unlock the door.

Face expressionless, she opened it, pondering the bottle of wine she had in the fridge. She couldn’t think of too many things that would have him on her doorstep this late.

Looked like the twin brother had gone and ratted her out.

The son of a bitch.

*   *   *

Trey had planned to say something. Anything, really.

But as the door slowly opened to reveal her standing there in clothes that skimmed her thighs and hips, a tank that drooped over one shoulder, leaving luscious skin and all those fucking sexy tattoos bared, every thought he had drained away.

Should they talk?

Yeah.

She seemed concerned about whatever secrets her past held. He had some shadows of his own—shadows that had haunted and strained his life for nearly six years. Should he explain those?

Oh, hell, yeah.

But all he could think about was the sad, somber look in her eyes.

What’s hurt you?

He wanted to ask—no, demand. Then he wanted to kiss the misery away and make it all better.

One hand clenched into a fist as he let his gaze roam lower, over the gray tank, the tattoos he’d kissed his way across, the curve of her breasts.

His gaze caught and lingered over the heavy-looking metal sculpture she held in one hand.

“You always answer the door with pieces of art in your hand?” he asked.

She glanced down, a frown drawing her mouth tight.

“Ah . . . no.” She shook her head and turned away, putting it down on a table a few feet away. “Come on in.”

He came inside, easing the door shut, studying the tension that held every line of her body tight.

She still stood with her back to him and he was a breath away from going to her when she spoke. The tight sound of her voice froze him in his tracks.

“Is everything okay? You’re out kind of late.”

“No.”
You tell me,
he thought. But then he decided to let it go. For now. Reaching up, he trailed a finger down her nape, watched as she shivered. “Everything’s not okay. It’s been four
days since I saw you. Four days since I kissed you. And way too long since I made love to you.”

He heard the soft catch of her breath and that was all he needed to lean forward and press his lips to her neck, brushing aside the thick tail of her hair where it rested against her skin.