"Hailey," he says as I turn. And later, I'll wonder why he doesn't just let me go. No...later, I'll wonder why he doesn't haul me into the shadows and kiss me until I'm begging for more, because in hindsight, it's what we both want.

But he just shakes his head. "Don't come to the dedication if you don't want to."

I hold his gaze, letting him singe me. Just a little. "It's okay. I'll be there. It's the right thing to do."

- - G.o.d.

I shake off the memory and pace across my living room. I'd shoved that conversation away, forgetting it under a pile of dislike and resentment, because when I went to the dedication and Cole wasn't there...I was p.i.s.sed. I'd felt tricked.

That was nothing.

Now it's so much worse. Now I've had him, in my body and heart and mind. And I still feel like everything between us is lopsided.

Cole has all the power. All the knowledge and control.

He could destroy me.

Because after everything that's happened, after walking away, all I want is another moment with that hot, burnt-amber gaze on me.

-six-.

Cole.

Our work is done. Tonight the Metropolitan Police will be making arrests-good ones that will stick, with loads of legitimate, legally obtained evidence-in the murder of Anabeth Fletcher.

A man named Andre Beauchamp was the money. Shadowy money, and Wilson and I don't think the buck stopped with him, but it's what we've got for now. Two hired men led us to him, and all three were arrested.

I'm glad.

I'm also f.u.c.king tired.

After a while, beating people up gets old.

Especially when the adrenaline rush can't be worked out with a good, hard f.u.c.k, which is exactly the wrong thought to have while I'm in the shower.

I tip my head back, letting the hot water hit the bruise forming on my jaw. That a.s.shole's head was made of f.u.c.king bricks.

Wincing, I grab the ice pack from the tile shelf and hold it in place as I turn and put my back under the steady stream.

My preferred therapy: hot, cold, and beer. I've already finished one bottle, and the next is sitting next to the other ice pack. I came into the shower fully prepared to stay here for a while.

But now I've thought of f.u.c.king, which makes me think of Hailey.

I should feel like an a.s.shole for taking her against my office door. I just want to do it again.

Too bad she's off-limits right now. It's better for her if she's insulated from this bulls.h.i.t, although I've wanted to go to her, every single night.

I take my c.o.c.k in hand, already throbbing at the memory of sliding into her without any barriers.

That was f.u.c.ked up, that I didn't even think about a condom. I'd been so sure she was going to tell me stop, and when she didn't, I lost my mind. Standard operating procedure for me and the delicious Ms. Reid.

It's all her soft curves and endless sweet skin. No, it was the thought of never having her again. I needed to claim her, to mark her as mine. It wasn't enough to say it. To see in her eyes that she'd heard me. Mine.

When this is all over-when I've fulfilled my promise to Jason, and closed the case that made me take on Morgan Reid as a client in the first place-I'm taking Hailey away from all of this. Finding that private beach we can surf and f.u.c.k and laugh on. Not a care in this world except for each other.

Hailey in a bikini. In nothing at all, just the world's softest sand pressed to her hips and b.r.e.a.s.t.s and a.s.s. I squeeze my eyes tight, holding on to that fantasy as my o.r.g.a.s.m builds. I'm squeezing my d.i.c.k hard enough it might hurt if I didn't need that tightness.

Laughing. Her modestly covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as she stumbles through the surf, me chasing her. Grabbing her and rolling together in the waves until I find my place between her legs. Hard against soft. Tough against sweet.

That's the part that turns me on the most about her. More than how s.e.xy she is, it's her f.u.c.king sweetness. I've never had anyone like Hailey in my life before. You don't have her now, a.s.shole. No, right now I've let her go, but I'm still watching her. Still aware of her, constantly.

She's alone right now, in the bed I want to be in more than I want my next breath. In the morning she'll get up and go to work. In a few days, she'll have her Vanity Fair interview, and I should be there with her, but I can't be.

One day, I'll be good enough for her. One day, I'll be able to be in the same room with her and not threaten the fragile goodness she's constructed around her.

I jerk myself more roughly now, so close to release. Regret morphs to something less-definable, leaving an angry edge on the usually simple feelsf.u.c.kinggood of masturbating. There's nothing simple about my fantasy of Hailey. Nothing easy or possible about getting the woman of my dreams alone, safe, and all mine on a beach in Hawaii. f.u.c.k, I can't even have her in an apartment in Washington for more than a few hours.

And even that was perfect. Hailey begging me for more. f.u.c.king her face. Spanking her p.u.s.s.y. f.u.c.k me. I need her. Need to spread her legs wide and feast on her wet, swollen c.u.n.t. Drive deep and blow my load inside her.

Fuuuuuck.

I fall forward, wincing as my palm slams against the shower wall, some of the cuts on my hand screaming in protest. With my other hand, I slow my strokes, milking my c.o.c.k as the last spurts fall to the drain below.

With fantasies like that, I need to stay as far away from Hailey Reid as I can get, for as long as I can.

We both know it won't be forever. I'm not that strong.

-seven-.

Hailey.

I didn't have any doubt that something would slam Cole and me back together.

I just a.s.sumed it would be another mistake. Another scandal in my family.

Not something even darker. Totally random. And utterly terrifying.

- - Two weeks after Cole was arrested, the Metropolitan Police Major Case unit executed a raid on a condo near The Hill and arrested two men for the murder of Anabeth Fletcher, and at the same time, a simultaneous warrant was being served in Virginia on a third man, whose name never made it to the papers.

I was dying to ask Wilson about it.

I didn't.

Not when he came over the next day to do my prep for the Vanity Fair interview, and not three days later when he showed up twenty minutes before the reporter in case I had any last minute questions.

Instead, I made him knit me a scarf.

"You're getting pretty good at that." I peer over his shoulder. Only two dropped st.i.tches that row. "You can give that to Jason for his birthday."

"I don't know when Jason's birthday is."

"Seriously?"

"Correction. I don't care when Jason's birthday is."

"How about Cole's birthday?" I'm not sure why I bring that up. I walked away. I don't care about him. Liar, liar, pants on fire.

"June tenth."

I freeze. Somehow Cole having an actual birthday-a date on which he was born, once helpless and small and probably very cute-makes him more human. "How do you know that off the top of your head, but not Jason's?"

He ducks his big, blond head and stares at his knitting.

"Wilson?"

"I thought you might want to know. I can also tell you his favorite foods, total net worth, and the results of his last physical."

In broad strokes, I think I know the answer to the last point. I don't care about the middle one. But the first... "Uhm, okay. What kind of food does he like?"

Wilson twists his head and looks at me. "If I tell you, can I stop knitting?"

"Nope. It's going to impress the reporter, and if I'm lucky, distract her. The ladies love a man who's good with his hands. Maybe if you're lucky she'll want to nip the interview short and drag you back to her hotel room."

"I think she's married."

"Too bad for you."

"Too bad for you." He shoves the world's ugliest scarf attempt back into my knitting basket. "Why did you agree to this interview if you don't want to do it?"

Because I don't like to be selfish. "I couldn't think of a good reason to say no."

"Pretty sure my life isn't for public consumption' is a perfectly acceptable reason." He stands, filling the s.p.a.ce beside me, and for a second I think he's going to hug me. That would be weird, but he doesn't. Instead he skirts around me and pulls his computer out of his backpack. "Do you remember what I told you the other day?"

"From her previous stories, you think she really wants the hint of taboo. She's going to keep coming back to Taylor and the Vice President." I nod. I can do this. "But instead I'm going to give her the estranged sister story."

It's not a lie, and it's a part of my life I don't mind sharing. I won't make Taylor look bad, but it's to my advantage that the world knows we aren't close.

"And if you can find a way to talk about s.e.xual a.s.sault on campus..." he trails off as I snap my gaze to meet his. I'm scowling, because we've been over this. "Okay, fine. I'm just saying, it's a s.e.xy story." He turns a faint shade of red. "Jesus. Not s.e.xy, that's not what I mean. Sensational. It'll sell magazines."

I roll my eyes and head into the kitchen to make tea.

"I'm really the wrong person to be doing this with you," he calls after me.

Too bad I've banned the right person. Cole would just get my boundaries without these awkward conversations, but he's off-limits because if he helps me with this, we'll end up naked in my bedroom before the interview is over.

No, Cole is not an option.

And I refused to have Jason do it. I'm furious with him, even more so than with Cole. Because you're not really mad at Cole. No, I'm just trying my best to move on from an ill-advised fling. But Jason, on the other hand-I saw the way he looked at me, like I was a problem that needed to be dealt with. I get enough of that bulls.h.i.t from my family. I don't need it from their hired muscle, too.

I lift my voice. "Why are you here if you don't like stuff like this? Didn't Tag volunteer? He likes pretty reporter ladies."

"He did. Cole wanted me to do it."

You're mine. His words roll unbidden into my mind, and I stare blankly at my tea cupboard before grabbing four random boxes and sticking them on a tray with a tea pot of hot water.

Now I'm grumpy, because how can I move on when he's all but here in person?

I set the tray down a bit harder than necessary on the coffee table.

"You didn't need to make tea if it's p.i.s.sed you off."

I shoot Wilson a death look.

"Oh. Not the tea?"

"No, not the tea."

"Me?"

"Shut up."

"Ah. Cole?"

I sigh and sit down. "I'm not mad at him."

He hesitates, then looks at his computer before talking again. "But you were."

"Yes. No. I wasn't mad. I was scared." And I still think Cole came perilously close to using me. But I'm not going to tell Wilson that. It feels like a betrayal to even think it when Cole's actually been pretty steadfastly on my side.

Again, I think about asking Wilson about the arrests. I go half-way there. "He's okay, then? Not under investigation for...anything?"

"He's fine. Kind of p.i.s.sed, still. Stomping around like a hungry bear." That makes my heart ache, that Cole is out of sorts and I can't soothe him, and Wilson must see that on my face, too, because he shakes his head. "I'm not helping, am I?"

"It's okay," I whisper.

"It would be best if you forget him."