DOTTY (The Naughty Ones Book 3) (100 page)

The sun was shining on my face when I woke the next morning. Grant had yet to put anything over the windows in his bedroom, so the room was bathed in light early in the morning. I rolled over, moving into the warmth of his naked body. Even in his sleep his arms came around me, tugging me closer against him. I couldn’t imagine feeling any more secure than I felt there with him like that.

I closed my eyes and let sleep drift over me again. I was just sitting there on the threshold, about to fall into dreams, when I heard the door slam downstairs. Grant didn’t move, so I assumed it was just part of my dream. But then the bedroom door opened and a woman gasped.

I sat up, tugging the sheet up over my chest. Rebecca, her face pale as she stared at us, stood inside the doorway.

“What are you doing here?”

Her eyes moved from Grant to me, then back again.

“Sorry,” she said in that soft, breathless voice that most southern women seemed to have, “I didn’t realize you would still be here.”

“No problem, Rebecca,” Grant said, sitting up behind me, pressing his lips to my shoulder.

Her eyes seemed to widen, making me wonder how much of an eyeful she was getting.

“The painters…” she mumbled.

“Give us an hour,” Grant said, his arm coming around my waist as he pulled me back down against the mattress.

“Grant!”

He started kissing me, but not on the lips. His mouth moved over my throat as his body slowly slid down the length of mine. I caught sight of Rebecca leaving the room just as he pulled the sheet down over my breasts, capturing one nipple between his teeth. I cried out, as much from shock as from the slight spark of pain. And then he was moving farther down and my thoughts started to become foggy before they slowly disappeared altogether.

“Oh, you’ve got to stop,” I groaned.

“You don’t really want me to stop.”

I reached down and brushed a lock of hair out of his face. “Rebecca is just outside.”

“Maybe we’ll teach her a thing or two. I’m sure her husband would appreciate it.”

He smiled as he moved back down between my thighs, his tongue doing amazing things to my clit. I cried out, pressing my fingers into his hair to pull him closer. And then his fingers were brushing against my lips, sliding inside of me easily. I lay back, giving myself up to anything and everything he wanted to do. Why fight something this amazing? Why fight a man who was determined to do whatever he wanted to do?

Why fight a mind-blowing orgasm?

When I caught my breath, he climbed out of bed and reached back for my hand.

“Join me in the shower?”

The water was hot. The shower one of those walk-through things that gave the illusion of space. He positioned me under the primary showerhead and grabbed a bar of soap, running it slowly over my back. When his hands were good and soapy, he put it down and ran his hands over my breasts, taking his time washing every little spot, tweaking my nipples between his forefinger and thumb, before lifting the weight of my breasts and holding it in the palms of his hands.

“You’re insatiable,” I said, twisting in his arms and sliding my own soapy hands along his chest.

“I have a lot of time to make up for.”

“You say that like there’s been no one else keeping your bed warm.”

“And you say that like you think there’s been a string of women coming and going.”

“Mostly going, I hope.”

“What about you?” He pushed me back against the wet, cold wall. “How many men came and went from your bed?”

“Hundreds.”

“Hundreds, huh?” He pressed his hand against my throat, tight enough that I could feel the potential danger in it. “I’m supposed to believe that?”

“You don’t think there’d be hundreds of men capable of wanting to be in my bed?”

“Oh, I believe it’s possible. I just don’t believe you’d do that.”

“You have no idea what I did after you left.”

“I don’t.”

“Does that make you jealous?”

He looked down at me, his tongue sliding slowly over his moist lips. His free hand moved over my breasts, sliding slowly down over my belly.

“You’re mine,” he said softly. “I don’t like the idea that anyone else ever touched you like this.”

“How many would make you truly jealous? How many men in my bed?”

“Even one…I won’t even let myself think of just one.”

“You were jealous of Bellamy yesterday.”

He reached down and grabbed the back of my thigh. “The way he was looking at you,” he said roughly. “I wanted to bloody his nose.”

He lifted me up even as I grasped his shaft, stroking it gently as he slid me up high against the wall. “I like that,” I whispered as I guided him to me, as I helped him find my entrance and slide deep inside of me. I closed my eyes only briefly, long enough to catch control over the pleasure roaring through me.

I wrapped my legs around him as the weight of his body pinned me against the wall. He braced himself with one arm on the wall just above my head, his other around my waist, holding me in place.

“You’re mine,” he said, his forehead against my own, his lips so close to my lips. “Only mine.”

“And you’re mine.”

I ran my hands over his jaw, drew him to me until our lips touched for a long moment. Then he began to move, and this became the only thing that mattered. The past was gone, the future just a momentary distraction. This was what mattered.

***

Rebecca was downstairs when I made my way down a while later. Grant left ahead of me, saying something about a meeting he was late for. He kissed me, his hand sliding over my bare bottom before he walked out the door, still tying his tie as he went. I stood in his bathroom for a little while, snooping through his medicine cabinet, sniffing his cologne straight out of the bottle—funny how it never smelled the same in the bottle as on his skin—and checking the brand of his toothpaste and his deodorant. Just learning all those intimate details that eluded me up until now.

“I’m really embarrassed,” Rebecca said as she watched me come down the stairs. “I’m sorry.”

She did look embarrassed. There was high color on her cheeks, and she wouldn’t look me in the eye.

I paused halfway down the stairs to watch the painters carefully apply blue tape around surfaces that weren’t to be painted. There were three of them, young men in white overalls who moved deftly. They had the blue paint I’d suggested for the living room and a host of supplies that suggested their level of professionalism.

“If they’re working down here, why were you upstairs?”

“I knew Grant was still here. I just didn’t know he wasn’t alone.”

“You go into his bedroom a lot?”

Rebecca blushed. “We had a routine in Los Angeles. We’d meet at his place for breakfast every morning to go over his schedule for the day. If he wasn’t up when I got there, he told me to come wake him.”

“This isn’t Los Angeles.”

“I realize that.”

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and dismissed a calendar reminder that I was supposed to meet my dad for breakfast. I started down the stairs again, pausing as I reached her side.

“From now on, the bedroom is off-limits.”

“Of course.”

I looked her up and down, letting my eyes linger until she blushed so brightly her cheeks were nearly glowing.

“I don’t know what things were like in Los Angeles. I wasn’t there. But here we believe in personal space. And privacy. I suggest you learn a few boundaries if you want to stay employed at Berryman Construction.”

“Of course, Ms. Berryman.”

I inclined my head slightly and walked off, pausing at the door.

“Oh, and tell Grant that I’ll be out of the office this morning. If he needs me, he should call my cell.”

It was petty, but it sure made me feel good.

My dad stood as I walked toward him in the crowded restaurant. I took his hand and let him pull me in for a kiss on the cheek, the familiar scent of him filling me with guilt for not doing this sooner.

“I’m sorry I haven’t responded to your phone calls. Things have been crazy at the office.”

“I’m sure they have been,” he said as he helped me into my chair before reclaiming his own.

“Grant has everyone switching to computer tablets to keep track of paperwork. It’s causing a bit of confusion for some of the workers.”

“I can imagine.”

“That’s sort of why I asked you to breakfast. I was wondering—”

“Could we put that on hold for just a second, Addison?”

I looked at him, trying to pretend everything was normal. The truth was, I was still angry with him. Sitting across from him now was complicated. My dad was the only family I had. He was my whole world from the time I was five. But he was also the guy who paid my fiancé off to make his disappear. I felt like I didn’t even know him.

The waitress came over and we both ordered Belgium waffles with strawberry compote. And coffee. Lots of coffee.

“I know you’re angry with me,” my dad said as soon as we were alone again.

I studied his face. “What do you expect?”

“I thought I was protecting you.”

I inclined my head slightly. “I get that. But you should have come to me instead.”

“You were eighteen.”

“Yes. I was an adult. I was old enough to make my own choices.”

“But there were things about him you didn’t know.”

I picked up a packet of sugar and played with it, not really wanting it but needing something to do with my hands. I could feel him watching me, could feel the weight of his stare on me. But I couldn’t look at him.

“He was a thief, a juvenile delinquent.”

“Are you talking about what he did on one of your construction sites?” I saw the truth in my dad’s eyes. Part of it, anyway. “He told me about that.”

“Good. I’m glad. But that’s not all there was.”

“What else?”

My dad picked up a file folder from the chair beside him and handed it to me.

“You had him investigated?”

“He was dating my daughter. My only child. You can’t tell me you’re honestly surprised.”

I half nodded. He was right about that. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“I’m not really interested in what’s in here.”

“There are things you should know. Things that would explain why I did what I did.”

“Why did you?” I looked at him, tears burning in the back of my throat. “Why would you do something so cold?”

My dad looked away, his eyes moving to the windows. I saw him blink a few times. I’d never seen my father cry. I’d heard him sobbing into his pillow late at night when he thought I was asleep, but I’d never actually seen him cry. I thought this might be the first time.

He cleared his throat and focused on me again.

“He was arrested three times before he was sixteen for stealing. The first two times, the charges were dropped for a lack of evidence, but the third time, the victim dropped the charges before the prosecutor could file charges.”

“He was a kid.”

“But this was only, what, four years before he met you? Six years? Do people really change that much, Addison?”

“I don’t know, Daddy. But you have to give them a chance.”

“The first time I met him, he was drunk and bleeding from his hands because he tore apart one of my sites in a drunken rage.”

“He was eighteen. His mother had just died.”

“But those are just excuses, Addison. People have to take responsibility for their behavior. Blaming it on something that went wrong in their lives is just ridiculous.”

“Like you’ve never done anything stupid.”

“I didn’t blame my mistakes on the hard turns I’ve experienced.”

I nodded. I pushed the file folder away and wrapped my hands around my coffee mug. The heat filled me, made some of the cold that had settled in my chest go away.

“I wish you could understand.”

“I do understand, Daddy. That’s the problem.”

“How is that the problem?”

I hesitated as I ran my thumbs over the outside of the coffee mug. “I understand why you would try to buy him off. I just don’t understand why he would accept your offer.”

“He didn’t want to. Not at first.”

I looked up, wanting to believe what he was saying.

“I knocked on his door early that morning. I’d been up all night because I overheard you talking to him on the phone, making your final plans. I guess you were supposed to meet earlier in the day, but I’d asked you to go to the office with me that evening.”

I nodded. I remembered. Grant had wanted to leave when he was given his lunch break on the site, and I’d agreed, thinking I had the day off since it was a Saturday. But my dad surprised me by asking me to accompany him to the office for a couple of hours that afternoon. He didn’t normally do that, but he had a new project that he needed help preparing for.

My dad watched the memory play itself out over my face. He waited, continuing his story only when he was sure he had my full attention.

“He started to close the door before I’d even said a word. I think he knew what I was there for. I told him I wouldn’t go away until we spoke, so he opened the door, gestured for me to come in.”

And then it was my dad who was lost in memory.

“I won’t leave her,” Grant said the moment the door closed.

“You’re not what she deserves. She deserves someone who can take care of her, give her the life she’s accustomed to living.”

“Addison’s not like that. If you knew your own daughter, you would know that.”

That touched a raw spot that caused Charles Berryman to stiffen. He studied this young man’s face, hating that he could see himself in him. He was defiant at that age, too—determined to make a success of himself. Only twenty-one, he’d borrowed ten thousand dollars from Caroline, his fiancée, and began a construction business in a market that was already saturated with such businesses. All the odds were against him, but he managed to make a success out of it anyway. He knew success hinged as much on stubbornness as it did intelligence and charm. But he wasn’t as willing as Caroline’s father had been to risk his daughter’s future on this man’s stubbornness.

“Addison doesn’t know what she wants right now. She’s young and you are her first serious relationship. In a few months, when she’s gone off to college and discovered some independence, she’ll realize that you were just a fling.”

“She won’t, because we’re getting married in five hours.”

So defiant. He should have known then that this man was more than he appeared to be. But he couldn’t let this happen. Not his Addison.

“I have a check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. All you have to do is disappear.”

The boy’s eyes widened and Charles could see him doing calculations in his head. The money was more than anything he’d probably ever seen. Charles knew he’d won.

But then the boy surprised him by grabbing the front of his shirt and pushing him toward the door.

“Get out of my house!”

“You want the money. I can see it on your face.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“Everyone needs money.”

“I might need money, but I won’t take yours. I’ll work for what I have.”

“What about Addison? Do you really think she’ll be content living on the streets with you? Because that’s where you’ll end up if you do this. Do you really think I’ll keep paying her way, giving her money to be with a man I don’t approve of?”

“We don’t need you or your money.”

“Is that what you really think? How long do you think it’ll be before Addison begins to resent you for taking her away from her multimillion-dollar home, her clothes and her toys and all the things my money had bought her? How long do you think it’ll be before she looks at you and only sees everything she’s left behind?”

“That won’t happen.”

But Charles could see there was a little bit of doubt in his eyes.

“You love her. I get that. Addison’s easy to love. But you, no matter how badly you want to be, are not the man for her. You can’t be what she wants.”

“I’m not the man you want for her. But you underestimate your daughter. She knows her own mind.”

“You’re a loser! You’re a petty thief, a vandal. You hurt people and ask questions later.”

“What do you know about it?”

“I saw your juvenile record.”

“Those are sealed.”

“Yes, well, I have friends.”

The boy stared at him, anger dancing in his eyes. But his grip on Charles’s collar had loosened.

“My friends tell me that if it weren’t for your mother coming to your defense, you would be in jail as we speak. Charged as an adult for stealing more than three thousand dollars from your high school English teacher.”

Charles could see that he’d hit the nail on the head. The boy looked away, his breathing suddenly labored.

“What do you think Addison would think if I showed her that?”

“You don’t know the whole story.”

“No, I don’t suppose I do. But I know enough of it to be very convincing to Addison.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t put it past me, boy.”

He shoved Charles hard against the door and let him go, walking backward until his legs hit the ratty couch in the center of his worn-out living room, if you could call such a room a living room. Charles shuttered to think of all the time his daughter had spent in this room.

What was she thinking?

“I know all about your past,” Charles said. “I could tell Addison all kinds of stories about you. All things I’m sure you never bothered to share with her.”

He looked up at Charles and Charles could see the guilt in his eyes. It was pretty obvious he hadn’t said anything to Addison about his criminal past. He probably never intended to.

“If you take my money and walk away—”

“I won’t do that to Addison.”

“Addison will survive.”

The boy shook his head. “She’s had enough hurt in her life.”

“So why create more? Why hurt her with the truth? Do you really want her to look at you with that lack of trust that will come with the truth?” Charles watched the boy closely. “I know my daughter. She’ll stand by you no matter what you tell her. But she’ll never trust you again when she realizes you’ve been lying to her all along.”

“I never lied.”

“You lied by omission.”

The boy shook his head, but Charles could see he was coming around.

“Do you really want Addison to know who you really are? That you’re a liar and a thief and a vandal?”

“I’ll tell her.”

“And how will you take care of her? How will you give her the life she’s accustomed to?”

“We’ll be fine. We’re going to California. I have friends there. Family.”

Charles shook his head. “You will never make her happy. You will never be anything more than the thief and liar that you are right now.”

The boy sat there staring at his hands. Charles set the check on the table.

“I’ll leave this here. You can tear it up or cash it. Doesn’t matter to me.”

“You just left it there?”

He focused on me. “Yeah. I didn’t know what he’d done until I got a call at the office late that afternoon, the bank asking if it was okay to cash the check.”

“What made him change his mind?”

My dad shrugged. “I don’t know.”

The waitress came back with our meals then. I picked at mine. It seemed like I hadn’t been all that hungry lately. I was even a little nauseous now. The past has a way of making food seem unpalatable.

I pushed the fruit around the plate, trying to imagine what it was like for Grant to be confronted by my father that way. Was he really ashamed of his past? Did he really feel that strongly about avoiding telling me the truth?

“You wanted to talk about Agnes?”

I looked up. “Yeah. She’s not adjusting well to the new system, but her daughter said she’s not interested in early retirement.”

My dad nodded. “That’s too bad. Retirement’s not that bad.”

“You didn’t get much out of the sale of the business. Are you going to be okay?”

He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I don’t understand how you could sell the place for as little as you did.”

“It was for the best.”

I didn’t think there was any point in pushing the issue. It was pretty obvious he wasn’t going to tell me what I wanted to know.

“Do you think you could give some work to Agnes?”

“Of course,” my dad said. “I’m working on organizing my private papers. She could help me with that.”