“Fine.” Somehow my voice doesn’t crack under the weight of the emotion battering me like the loser in a heavy-weight fight. “I accept your conditions. I’ll make sure to mail the bills for both surgeries out first thing in the morning.”
Walk away. Turn around and walk away. I heed that warning voice, and even turn on my heel, heading to the den’s door. But then I snap to a stop and pivot, facing Dan again.
“I haven’t asked you for one thing since I was sixteen years old. It’s taken everything in me to come to you, to ask for your help, and it’s not even for just myself, but for the woman you spent over a decade with—the mother of yourdaughter. And what you tell me is not rocking your wife’s boat is more important than unconditionally offering me support. More important thanme. Thank you,Dan, for the reminder of what I’ve already known all these years.”
At least he has the grace to flinch. But he doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t take back the ridiculous stipulation.
Doesn’t stop me as I once more turn and exit the room and his house.
Chapter Seven
Jude
I follow the silver Mercedes Benz C-Class off of I-90E onto the Ohio Street E exit, keeping two cars between me and it. Not that I think Cypress is aware I’ve been following her from Edison Park for the last thirty-five minutes. She didn’t seem to notice me fall in behind her seconds after she pulled out of Mom’s driveway. Because if she did, I have zero doubts she would’ve pulled some tactical evasive moves that would’ve made cops look like Driver’s Ed candidates. We need to talk, but it’s safe to say she’s avoiding me.
Not that I can really blame her.
Shit. My stepsister.
I’m still stunned. I should be more freaked out than I am, considering I screwed Dan’s daughter. Instead, I’m just…hard. Yeah, I can’t deny it, I’m hard as hell. Have been from the moment she walked into the room with my stepfather.
Cypress had been sexy in her jeans-and-T-shirt Rabbit Hole uniform. But goddamn, in that classy black dress that skimmed every curve of her beautiful body and those heels that took her long, sculpted legs from gorgeous to spectacular, she was…stunning. That night, I’d had the impression that she didn’t belong in that bar. Seeing her today only fossilized that belief. Part of me is a little surprised she let my big, scarred, calloused hands touch her. Get inside her.
She hasn’t left my mind since the night we were together. That sounds so anemic. Since the night we damn near broke ourselves from the fucking. It was that hot, that raw, that dirty. And after the shock of her true identity ebbed, my next thought had been,I want more.Even knowing that was impossible with our newly discovered relationship. But that impossibility only deepened, sharpened the hunger, the craving to be surrounded by her again.
Every time she didn’t succeed in evading my gaze, I glimpsed the same need in those denim eyes. Saw the same memories darkening them. But I also spied the rejection of those desires.
Given the way Dan studied her and me through the most awkward dinner in history, denial is smart. He isn’t a dumb man, and I tried to cover my reaction to seeing her, but I wasn’t successful. He might not know anything for sure, but he suspects. And that’s good. That suspicion will keep my dick in check. She’s off-limits. And her being my stepsister is only one reason. A major one, definitely, but there’s also the fact that I’m leaving in a couple of months and getting involved with anyone before then is on my no-way-in-hell list. Even if I intended to remain on American soil, I would still avoid relationships right now. Between what’s gone down in my own family and my own experiences—Ana, being the latest—it currently feels like only an idiotic masochist would willingly go down that road.
The phone on my lap vibrates.
Speak of the “latest.”
My jaw tenses, and my fingers curl tighter around the steering wheel. I don’t need to glance down at the screen to figure out who’s calling. It’s the same person who’s been calling since this morning and who texted all through dinner.
Ana.
We broke up four months ago, but she refuses to get over it. Get over me. Another reason for me not to start anything new with someone. No woman enjoys being screamed at or bum rushed by the crazy ex.
Eden calls her a stalker, and I suppose how she randomly pops up at the shop or my apartment, calls incessantly, and demands to know why I won’t talk to her crosses into that territory. I drag a hand down my face. Every time she says she can’t live without me… Logically, I know Ana’s being dramatic, but it hauls me back into my worst nightmare. I’d be lying if I claimed putting thousands of miles distance between her and me isn’t part of London’s allure.
Ahead of me, Cypress turns left on N. LaSalle Drive, and I ignore the continually buzzing cell to focus on her. Minutes later, she pulls into the parking lot of a motel that probably has a high percentage of pay-by-the-hour customers. What the hell is she doing in a place like this? The neon red blinking sign is missing at least five letters, and I’m pretty sure the one-level building was the scene of a murder on an episode ofThe Last 48. If not, it’s only a matter of time, because this is definitely the kind of place where drug transactions, prostitution, and murder go down.
She pulls into a free parking space, andson of a bitch. Her late model, luxury sedan stands out like a fur coat in a pile of hoodies. What the hell is she thinking? I’m surprised her car hasn’t been stripped to the frame. Probably the only thing that’s saved her is people thinking it belongs to a dealer.
All thought of remaining in stealth mode disappears under a wave of anger. Anger at her utter lack of self-preservation and ignorance for her own safety. A woman who looks like her, driving a car like that? She might as well as hang a “HIT A LICK” sign around her neck and invite getting robbed.
Slamming into park in the space right next to hers, I turn off my Charger and get out just as she exits her own car. Her head swings in my direction, those soulful eyes widening.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demands.
“I could ask you the same question,” I snap. “As a matter of fact, I’m asking. What the hell are you doing here?”
The shock evaporates from her gaze, and those elegant dark brows pull down in a frown. I can’t believe I didn’t notice the resemblance between her and Dan before. Granted, she’s a much prettier version of him, but the brows, the stubborn line of her jaw, even the dimple in her chin belong to him. The eyes must be all her mother, though.
“I’m sorry, stalker. But I just left my father back at his house. You followed me. Which, I might add, is creepy as hell.” She slams her door shut and rounds the hood of her Mercedes.
“We both know I’m not your father. And thank fuck for that, or it would make what we did last week a whole helluva lot creepier than me following you.” The words are out there before I can rescind them. She stiffens at my pointed reminder of how well we really know each other. And though it would be wiser to shut up, to not push her since we need to talk, my mouth has different ideas. “While I’ve never been into that daddy shit, hearing you say it might change my mind.”
