Wish I May (28 page)

His eyes crinkle in the corner as he gives his bashful smile. “I came for you.”

C
ALLY IS
on the showroom floor talking to a man who reeks of money. I watch from the loft, jealousy tearing through me, which is absurd because she’s not doing anything inappropriate. Hell, she’s still dressed in her massage scrubs. He could be a client for all I know. But there’s something almost proprietary about the way he positions his body by hers, the way he’s touching her hand.

After what happened this morning, I told myself I was going to give her some space today. I’m too damn tempted to touch her when we’re together, too damn tempted to beg her to stay in my house after the girls leave, to stay in New Hope indefinitely. To stay with me. She needs time to come to those decisions on her own. She doesn’t need me pressuring her.

Even before I realize what I’m doing, I’m headed down the stairs toward Cally, determined to put some space between her and this stranger.

“Good afternoon.” I offer my hand. “I’m William Bailey, the gallery owner and manager. Can I help you?”

The moment the man turns to face me fully, the force of recognition slams into me so hard, I stumble back a step. He carefully releases Cally’s hand and takes mine, his grip confident and strong. “Brandon McHugh.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Brandon,” I manage, but I can feel my jaw hardening. I know that face, those eyes. Could it really be? It may have been seven years ago, but I’ll never forget seeing those hands on my girl. It’s him. And now he’s here. “Is there anything I can help you with today? I’m sure Cally needs to get back to get clients upstairs.”

“Is it going well?” Brandon asks, that proprietary hand returning to her shoulder.

“Yes,” Cally says quickly. “Very well.” Then, to me, “Brandon is visiting from Las Vegas. He was just—”

“Just looking for some new artwork for my New York apartment,” he finishes for her.

They exchange a look, and I wonder what their relationship was. I never let Cally know I came to Vegas that summer. When I saw her with Brandon, his hand on her thigh under the table, I assumed they were together, despite how inappropriate—not to mention illegal—such an age match would have been. Was I right? Were they a couple? Her sixteen to his thirty-something? And what are they to each other now?

“Let me show you some of my favorite pieces,” I offer.

“I do need to go,” Cally tells Brandon. Her voice is softer, almost hesitant. She doesn’t sound like herself. “We’ll talk later.”

“I’d like that.” He runs his eyes over her until my fists are almost ready to fly at his face of their own volition. “I’d like that a lot.”

Cally scurries upstairs, and I do my best to hide my jealousy and a long-held resentment he wouldn’t understand. I won’t give in to my caveman need to drive my fist through his face. Not until I have a reason. Instead, I usher the man toward the most expensive pieces in the gallery.

Because I’m a spiteful dick, I suggest that he probably can’t afford the gorgeous glass mosaic bowl that Maggie priced at fourteen hundred dollars as a joke. And because this is obviously some sort of pissing contest to him, he buys it
and
an overpriced watercolor of the moonlight reflecting off the New Hope River. I ring him up with a smile and don’t bat a lash when he pays with cash.

Only when he’s gone do I feel like I can breathe again. But I’m plagued by questions about his visit and his relationship with Cally. This morning Cally suggested she may stay in town. Will his appearance here change that?

“You came.” He opens the door to his hotel room and runs his eyes over me as I step in.

The black dress and tall heels I purchased for this meeting cost me everything I made this week and more, but I didn’t dare show up in an outfit that would displease him. Brandon believes my appearance is for his pleasure alone, and he expects me to dress accordingly. When he finishes his visual tour and returns his eyes to mine, I know he approves. First hurdle, crossed.

I don’t bother asking how he can afford the swanky downtown Indy hotel. I’m sure he had cash reserves hidden somewhere. Besides, the question would insult him. Brandon will tolerate only the best; therefore, he’s in the top floor Presidential suite. He used to take me to hotels like this all over the country when he was traveling on business. He claimed to be an international jeweler. Though his business was certainly international in scope, it wasn’t the jewels the Feds were worried about when they caught up with him four years ago.

“Champagne?” he asks, but his servant hands me a glass before I can answer.

I haven’t stopped shaking all day. I never imagined he’d bother to come after me. I’m twenty-three now, after all, which might as well be fifty for all Brandon’s concerned. Even before he was caught and thrown in prison, he was starting to get bored with me, starting to find younger girls to fulfill his desires.

I used his incarceration as an opportunity to get away from him. The feds froze all his assets, so it wasn’t like I could have kept living the high life if I’d wanted to. So I found the apartment with my stoner roommates and hawked most of the jewelry and designer clothes Brandon had given me over the years. When I found out another girl had been visiting him at the prison, I had the perfect excuse to pull away. Not that I was jealous, but being a little too clingy and pretending I was hurt worked. Brandon likes the chase too much to tolerate a clingy woman. I had to work him like that. One doesn’t just
leave
Brandon McHugh.

When he was released from prison and I told him I’d moved on, he took it so well. I thought he’d let me go. But he never would have showed up in New Hope if he had any intention of letting me live my life without him.

I should have known better.

I settle into the couch across from him, trying to calm my shaking hands. I need to convince him to go back to Vegas and let me finish my business in New Hope, but I have to be careful I don’t piss him off.

Thinking to take a sip for courage, I put my lips to the glass then think better of it. Brandon isn’t above slipping drugs in my drink to get his way. I settle my champagne on the glass-topped coffee table that sits between us.

“You’re working too hard,” he says, narrowing his eyes as he looks at my face. “You need more sleep. Those bags under your eyes don’t do you justice.”

“Maybe I’m just not as young as I used to be.” I stick out my lip in a pout, as if I’m desperate for his reassurance.

“You’re still beautiful, but you’re tired. You can’t hide that from me, sweetheart.”

I shrug.
Hard work
was always a dirty word to him—especially when it came to me. He wouldn’t even let me finish high school. I change the subject. “What made you decide to come?”

“You know I don’t like to wait for what’s mine.”

A chill steals through me at that old, determined tone of a man who gets what he wants. “You took me by surprise.” I force a smile and lean forward. “A nice surprise.”

“Our flight leaves tomorrow,” he says. “That should give you enough time to pack your things.”

I’m not going with you.
It’s not lack of courage but presence of mind that keeps me from speaking the words. Instead, I say, “You’re really going to tease me with that when I already promised the girls I’d stay until after Christmas?”

“So break your promise. I’ll fly you back here with so many presents for the little rugrats that they’ll be glad to send you back to me and wait for more.” He comes to sit next to me and takes my face in his hands. “I need you more than they do.”

When his lips touch mine, I don’t try to move away. I put my hand on his sculpted shoulder and let him kiss me. When his tongue brushes my lips, I open to him, knowing the invasion will cost me far less than the consequences of denying him.

When he pulls away his eyes are smoky and he’s breathing heavily. “I’d missed those lips. Four years is too long.”

“It didn’t seem to bother you when you were with Quinn,” I pout. I hate playing this game, but I don’t have a choice.

He cups my face in his big hand. “Forget her. I’m here for you now.”

“Give me more time,” I whisper, stroking my thumb down the side of his face. “Please, Brandon?” Before he was arrested and sentenced, I’d gotten so good at manipulating him. His obsession with me was his weakness. But I got cocky. I never should have believed he would let me be.

“Stay with me tonight,” he growls. “It’s been too long since I fucked that hot little body.”

I lean forward and touch my lips to his, then, carefully, I reposition myself so I’m straddling him, and he’s leaning back. My body wants to recoil from his kiss, but I push forward. Only when he’s pulled the skirt of my dress to my waist and his hands are reaching for his belt do I pull away.