Secret Invitation: Tempted By Pleasure Part 17

"That's a freebie, Erin. Don't do it again."

His voice is low and mechanical, and it frightens me for some reason. "I don't monitor my father's financial dealings."

"You should, and in the future, we will."

I laugh. "There is no we, get that through your thick head. I wouldn't marry you if-"

"Your father's gambling addiction doesn't stop at the club. It includes the boardroom."

I cross my arms over my chest. "Lies."

"Do you think my father's dealings end at the plumbing supply house? He has an investment portfolio that could rival Donald Trump's. Covington Industries is a multi-million dollar corporation, one my father was eager to invest in."

"Only board members hold stock."

"Not any more. Once Robert's checks started to bounce, he began using shares in CI for collateral."

He must be telling the truth. Tears sting my eyes, but I hold them in. I won't let Thomas have the satisfaction of seeing me cry. "For what?"

"I've already explained, to gamble."

"On what?"

"Golf games, poker, football, elections . . ."

"Elections?"

He nods.

Oh. My. G.o.d. "And this arrangement will satisfy his debt?"

"Most of it," he says. "If you marry me, everything stays as it is. Refuse, and my family will be forced into a hostile takeover of your father's firm."

"That's blackmail."

"No," he corrects. "It's business."

No wonder my mother told me not to make fun of a man's living. If it were any other family, I wouldn't. My head is swimming. I can't wrap my mind around this. My church-going, frugal father is no better than a drug addict. Years of Ivy League education, training, and grooming from my grandfather, successful acquisitions and investments that nearly quadrupled his wealth, all lost on betting? It's fantastical. "Why me?"

"I always wanted you, Erin."

I shiver from the thought of ever sharing a bed or life with him. And the idea of reproduction, bringing little Kingsley monsters into the world, repulses me. "I hate you."

"I accept the challenge."

Sarcastic a.s.shole. "Don't you want to be loved? At least respected by the woman you marry?"

"Apples and oranges."

"I'm leaving now."

"Not with Foster."

"Excuse me?"

"I accept your independence and promise I won't alter your lifestyle too much. But appearances are important. I can't have my fiancee running around with a p.r.i.c.k like Foster Wagner. What would the tabloids say?"

"What if I provided full disclosure of what you just threatened me with?"

"People like winners. Even if you roused public sympathy, your father would suffer the consequences. He squandered his wealth and broke a few laws doing it."

And offered up his daughter as payment to save his own a.s.s. That sad reality leaves a lump in my throat. "I need time to think."

"How long?"

"Until Halloween."

Chapter 18.

Foster The woman sitting in my pa.s.senger seat isn't the same Erin I drove to dinner. Something happened with Thomas, and if I find out he hurt her, I'll destroy him. "Talk to me. What did that a.s.shole say?"

"Nothing."

"One-word answers aren't convincing." I watch her every move, an experienced judge of body language, especially with women.

She sighs and stares out the window.

Fifteen minutes later I roll into her driveway and turn the engine off. She's too quiet. Is she asleep? I lean over and brush her hair off her shoulder. "Tired?"

She gazes at me, her big blue eyes as luminous as the full moon. "Life isn't fair."

"No, it's not." I climb out and jog around to her side of the car. "Come on, baby. Let's have a cup of tea and some banana bread."

She doesn't refuse and quietly walks to the front door. Once inside, she heads to the kitchen, leaving me alone in the living room. It's a pleasant s.p.a.ce, with chocolate-colored walls and blue accents. And just like her bookstore, everything has its place, except for the photo alb.u.ms stacked on the floor. I gaze toward the kitchen, where she's busy boiling water probably. I grab the first alb.u.m and flip it open, finding pictures from high school.

I sit on the sofa, and start thumbing through pages. There's Frank Munoz and Terri Lambert, guys I played ball with. I smile at all the photographs of friends Erin and I had in common, realizing how close and yet how far our lives truly were. For the time we intersected, I was happy. Then I find a section filled with images of me and Erin, the weekend camping trip she asked me if I remembered, shots of us in homeroom, fishing, and laughing. There's even a rose pressed between the pages.

On the next page I discover an ill.u.s.tration with our names scrolled in calligraphy, surrounded by red hearts. Erin loves Foster. It screams high school, but I like that she kept it. And then there's a collection of notes, a half dozen I wrote to her. I hear movement and close the book, stashing it back where it belongs. I can't believe she kept memorabilia from our childhood. I thought she hated me.

"Tea and bread." She sets a tray on the coffee table. "I'm going to slip into something more comfortable, okay?"

"Take your time." I flash a smile and watch her disappear around the corner.

I grab the alb.u.m again, searching for a specific letter, one I hope she'd received but never knew if she did. It's still in the envelope addressed to her parents' house. I open it, desperate to remember one of the only times I wasn't a selfish a.s.shole.

My beautiful Erin, I don't expect you to ever read this, but if you do, I want you to know how sorry I am for what happened between us. I know it's been months since we broke up, but after I got to school today, Lizzie told me your mother withdrew you from cla.s.ses. I'm not sure I can live with that, knowing I won't see your beautiful smile when we pa.s.s each other in the hallway, even if that smile isn't for me. Tell me what to do, Erin, how can I get you back?

Can we be friends?

Please call me.

F.W.

She'd received it and never responded, not that I blame her.

"Foster!"

My head snaps up. Erin is standing in the archway, wearing silky black pajamas with her mouth hanging open.

"I can't believe you snooped." She stomps over to the sofa and s.n.a.t.c.hes the paper out of my hands. "My photo alb.u.ms are like a diary, not for anyone else to see."

G.o.d she's beautiful and f.u.c.king braless. Her pebble-hard nipples are winking at me, begging for more attention. My b.a.l.l.s ache and I have to cross my legs to hide my erection. "Why didn't you write back? Do you know how long I waited for an answer, how many times I checked mail or expected my mother to give me a message you called?"

"You haven't touched your tea." And just like that she ignores me and starts to stir sugar and cream into her cup.

I catch her hand. "One stupid choice in my youth changed the course of our lives and you won't answer me?" Now I'm mad. "You can't walk around in denial for the next twenty years. I'm here, the same old Foster, remember? We were happy. I wanted you. Desperately."

She shakes her hand free. "Don't pressure me."

"Don't make me."

"After tonight, I'm afraid nothing matters, Foster."

I stand, knowing that f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.d Thomas did something to her. I knew it the second she joined us at the table again. Her face was stained with fresh tears. "You've teased me enough, G.o.dd.a.m.nit."

"Teased you? That's rich. You can't handle the truth, Foster."

"Try me."

She stares at me long and hard, then marches to an oak Queen Anne desk in the far corner. She opens a drawer and pulls something out. "Take this." She tosses an envelope at me, but it falls short. "All your questions will get answered tonight."

I scoop it up and start to tear it open.

"Not here!"

"Where then?"

"I don't care." She palms tears from her eyes. "As long as you aren't here."

My anger recedes like ocean waves, replaced by overwhelming tenderness and the insatiable desire to hold her. "Why are you crying, baby?" I move closer. "Tell me."

"Leave, Foster."

"Don't banish me again." Old fears start to resurface. I can't lose her.

Our gazes fuse and she opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Instead, she rushes down her hallway. I hear a door slam and the distinct click of a lock. f.u.c.k me, deja vu, but this time, it won't end the same way.

I manage to drive three blocks before I pull over to read the letter. I honored her request to leave, but I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'll drive off this island before I speak to her again. I press the dome light on and study the envelope. It's yellowed and the addresses are faded, but she obviously intended to mail it, there's even a stamp.

And just as I've always suspected . . .

Foster, You shouldn't spend your life worrying about me or regretting our friendship. Everything happens for a reason.

I accept your apology, and hope you find a girl who will make you happy.

Now that I'm gone, it's easier for me to tell you the truth about what happened at your parents' house. I loved you, but seeing you drunk and acting so stupid hurt me. There's nothing else to discuss, we weren't meant to last.

Yes, Mother withdrew me from cla.s.ses. I'm enrolled at a private school in San Antonio now. I need to focus on my education and can't possibly concentrate if I stay at Carroll High School.

Sincerely, Erin Covington She loved me. The sweetest girl I've ever known loved me. I tuck the letter back inside the envelope. Funny how I internalized the loss of Erin. I forced it deeper and deeper away from my heart by f.u.c.king and scoring touchdowns. Then I went to college and immersed myself in frat life, but Erin was never out of my thoughts, and no woman, no matter how smart or s.e.xy, could compare.

That's what made Lazarus such a great opportunity, why my father pa.s.sed the keys. My d.i.c.k and heart were disconnected. Emotional entanglements were never an issue, and if a woman got too attached, she was banned from the club. I've been walking around in a G.o.dd.a.m.ned stupor for eight years, like a zombie on The Walking Dead.

I dial her cell, but she doesn't answer. I try again and again. Finally, I text.

You love me.

LOVED, she shoots back.

Why didn't you tell me?

Wouldn't have made a difference, I moved.

Should have given me a chance.

She doesn't respond, and I drive home wondering what the f.u.c.k I'm going to do.

Chapter 19.

Erin Foster Wagner makes me feel things that leave me questioning my whole outlook on life. I've been a devoted daughter, responsible member of my community, and surely safeguarded my reputation better than most women I know. Not necessarily by choice, but because I've been too terrified to love someone after Foster. And now Thomas has threatened to take that freedom away from me.

I can't hold everything in anymore. Katie is meeting me at Cole Park for a beach-side lunch and I plan on letting my heart bleed. I'm already sitting at our favorite table, watching the seagulls dip and dive for food and glide on the wind. I wish I had wings. I'd fly away. In fact, this is the first time I've considered leaving home. I have friends in Baton Rouge and Summerville, South Carolina, who've begged me to relocate.

I check the parking lot just as Katie's SUV pulls in. She's my only lifeline right now. Everyone else wants something from me. She gets out of her vehicle and waves.

"Playing hooky and lunch at the park?" she asks as she sits across from me. "You look tired. What's going on?"