Caught Up In You

He pressed his hand to the small of her back to lead her back up the stairs, reciting in his head: Too young. Too sweet. Too messy.

TWO

Kelsey stared out the side window of Wyatt’s BMW, trying to get her skin to stop crawling and her heart to stop its attempt to bust out of her chest. When Howie Miller had stepped into the restaurant, it was like being yanked back eighteen months—her life rewinding and then hitting the play button at the shittiest part.

Well, almost the shittiest part.

She’d been so careful. Had picked up and moved her whole life to a completely new area. She’d even registered her apartment and all her utilities under another name. And the cops had said they would never reveal that she’d been the informant. But the look in Howie’s eyes when he’d pushed her against the wall had said he knew exactly whose information had put his brother in jail. If Wyatt hadn’t followed her out there and distracted him … She didn’t even want to think about it. In that world, being a snitch was a capital offense. And Howie had looked more than ready to mete out her punishment.

Wyatt, who’d been quiet for the last few miles, glanced over at her. The lingering anger over what Howie had done hovered there in the tense lines of his face and his grip on the wheel. He looked as if he wanted to beat up the guy all over again. “What did that punk want with you? I’m guessing it wasn’t a random attack.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she said, turning back toward the window, wishing she didn’t have to have this conversation with Wyatt. Wyatt, who only knew her as the chatty waitress and his brother’s friend. Nothing else. None of the ugly stuff. She’d hoped it could remain that way.

“Was he an ex or something?”

She grimaced, the idea making her stomach turn. “God, no.”

Wyatt blew out a breath like that was the best news he’d heard all day. “Then what?”

She glanced down at her hands, fiddling with the silver bracelet she’d treated herself to when she’d celebrated her first year sober. That day had felt like such a fresh start, like a new life was there for the taking. But apparently the dregs of her past were determined to stir up and muddy everything again. “I helped put his brother in jail a while back. He wasn’t supposed to know it was me, but I guess he figured it out and was coming to pay me back.”

“Christ,” he said under his breath as he took the turn toward her apartment complex. “Thank God he’s going to be behind bars now, too.”

“Yeah, we’ll see how long that lasts,” she said dryly.

Wyatt flexed his fingers against the steering wheel again, those big, beautiful hands of his knotted with tension. “You need to file a restraining order on him when you get home. Just to be safe.”

She had to fight back the scoff that wanted to jump out of her throat. Restraining orders were worth about as much as the ink used to sign them. In her experience, they usually just served to instigate the person further—like waving a flag at a crazed bull. “Sure. Will do. My building’s the one there on the right.”

“You’re humoring me,” he said, displeasure coloring his tone as he swung the car into a parking space.

“I’m sorry,” she said, letting her head fall back against the seat, exhaustion setting in now that the adrenaline had left her system. How long had it been since she’d slept? She couldn’t quite remember. “I’m not trying to be flip. I just—everything was going so well and now I have this to deal with. I want to throttle that asshole.” She opened her eyes, staring forward. “Is it supposed to be this hard to live a drama-free life?”

She caught his smirk in her peripheral vision. “Some people would call drama-free boring.”

She turned her head toward him. “Boring sounds amazing.”

He smiled fully now. His jaw was still a little swollen from the punch, but that didn’t reduce the impact of the expression. God, he was gorgeous when he let that grin slip through, lighting up all those dark features and revealing the dimples hidden beneath. He smiled so infrequently that it felt like a gift each time it happened, like she’d won some secret contest.

She stayed where she was, enjoying the close-up view of him too much to look away. But in the small space of the car, the ocean blue of his eyes darkened behind his glasses the longer she sat there, his humor morphing into something decidedly more intense. Heat seeped through her in a slow roll, the playful fantasizing about her fictional boyfriend becoming more of a desperate itch for the real thing.

Wyatt reached out, his large palm cradling the side of her face. “You’re too young and too sweet to have so much history in those eyes.”

She wet her lips, her cheek tingling beneath his touch. “I’m not that young, Wyatt. Or that sweet.”

He stared at her, that blue gaze boring into her with the precision of surgeon’s knife, and she thought he was going to lean over and kiss her. She wanted him to. Even though she knew it was a ridiculously bad idea, knew that the minute she crossed that boundary with him, she’d be just another woman he’d bedded. She was well aware of the score with guys like him. Had tripped down that path a few too many times in the past. Wealthy men didn’t date women like her—they entertained themselves with them.

But all Wyatt did was brush a thumb over her mouth, swiping the moisture she’d left there, and then lowered his hand with a softly expelled breath. “Come on. I’ll walk you up. You need rest.”

She blinked, the loss of his touch like a cold wind against her face, and tried to drag herself back to reality. “Oh. Um, don’t worry about that. I’ll be fine.”

But he was already opening his door. “I’ll feel better if I see you safely inside. I rarely get the opportunity to feel chivalrous.”

She laughed, breaking some of the tension that’d been thrumming through her body from the imagined almost kiss, and pushed her door open to climb out. “Is there a white horse to ride up the stairs?”

“Nah, he’s in the shop.” He offered a little bow and a bent elbow. “Will my arm suffice, fair lady?”

She tilted her chin up in her best imitation of haughtiness. “I guess that will do.”

He smiled and took her hand, linking it around his arm. “Lead the way.”

If Wyatt had any opinions about her modest apartment complex and its peeling paint or sagging stairs, he kept the judgment off his face. She knew he’d probably never spent a night in anything with less than five-star accommodations, but she wasn’t going to bother being embarrassed about where she lived. She’d worked hard to get her own place on the decent side of town and even if it wasn’t much, it was hers.

She guided him to her door and reluctantly released herself from his hold to slide the key into the lock. There was a note taped above the doorknob, and she suspected it was the landlord telling her rent was a day overdue. She grabbed it and turned the knob, stepping inside.

She expected Wyatt to follow, but when she turned around, she found him leaning against the doorjamb like a vampire who needed permission to cross the threshold. “You can come in if you want.”

His mouth lifted at the corner. “Probably better I don’t. Leaving the car was hard enough.”

So she hadn’t imagined the almost kiss. She set her purse down on the breakfast bar, debating whether or not to push the issue. Even nudging a toe down this road was a bad idea. But she couldn’t help herself. The question that had been hovering in her mind ever since that first week he’d started coming to the restaurant spilled out. “Why do you come to the cafe every morning? Jace told me where your building is. It’s not convenient.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Because I like you.”

She absorbed that for a second, the matter-of-fact way he said it. The answer didn’t shock her exactly. He wasn’t one of those guys to throw lines at her and shamelessly flirt, but she could tell when he looked at her that he wasn’t just concerned about getting her attention for a coffee refill. However, mixed in with that subtle interest, she always sensed some underlying layer of distance. Like he was watching her from the other side of bulletproof glass. “So why didn’t you kiss me in the car?”

He pushed himself off the doorframe and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Same reason.”

“Right.” At least he was honest. Message, loud and clear. If they slept together, she would never seen him again. “You don’t date.”

“No, I don’t. Not very dateable, I’m afraid.”

“Sure, with the good looks, your own company, and the penchant to save waitresses in dark alleys, women must run away in horror,” she teased. “Come on, you know you could have your own season of The Bachelor and fill Texas Stadium with the contestant casting call.”

His curving lips had an edge of resignation to them this time. “Women like me on paper. But the reality isn’t as bearable. I work from seven in the morning to past ten most nights. I’m a control freak in all aspects of my life. And my social graces leave a lot to be desired.”

“Meaning, you can be an asshole.”

He shrugged, unapologetic. “My tolerance for others is limited.”

She had already gathered that about him. The glare he’d sent that customer who’d interrupted them today could’ve bent the silverware. “Yet you visit me every morning.”

“You’re exceptionally tolerable,” he said, stepping inside finally and picking up the note that must have fallen to the floor when she’d set her purse down.

His comment and having him only a pace away from her—in her apartment, alone—had her thoughts disintegrating for a moment. To stop herself from moving even closer and embarrassing herself, she went for the safety of humor. She tilted her head and batted her eyelashes in her best southern belle impression. “Oh, Mr. Austin, you say the sweetest things. You should write poetry.”

He chuckled and handed her the paper, his hand lingering against her fingers for a few extra seconds. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. LeBreck. Try to stay out of trouble until then.”

“Will do my best.” The loss of the skin-to-skin contact left her feeling even more alone than she had a minute before. She looked down, unfolding the paper in her hand to have something to do besides grabbing the lapels of his jacket and taking the kiss for herself. “Thanks again for everything today. I’m really sorry you had to get inv—”

Her words stuck in her throat like a wad of taffy as she stared down at the drawing on the page—a very familiar, distinctive D.

“Kelsey?” Wyatt’s voice filled with concern. When she didn’t respond, he came toward her. “What’s wrong? You’ve gone white.”

She closed her eyes, a wave of nausea and raging anger rolling through her. A firm hand grabbed her elbow, steadying her. She took in a deep breath through her nose, trying to keep the temptation to lose her shit at bay. She’d been here before. She could handle it.

Of course, before she could’ve taken a shot of whiskey and smoked a cigarette. But neither of those options were available anymore. This time she was on her own in every way.

“He came here first,” she said, her voice sounding flat.

Wyatt took the paper from her fingertips. “Who? Miller?”

She nodded, trying to regain her internal composure so that Wyatt didn’t notice how she was running around and screaming on the inside. “I need to get out of here.”

“Wait, what?” Wyatt asked as she pulled away from him.

“Miller’s part of a much bigger operation—the D-Town Players.” She headed toward the closet on the far side of the living room and yanked it open, a plan trying to form in her swirling brain. How long had they been standing here talking? What if someone was already heading this way? Where the fuck was her suitcase? “That note is letting me know they know where I live.”

“Fuck, Kelsey,” Wyatt said, lines deepening around his mouth. “How involved is this? Is it some sort of street gang?”

She shook her head, squatting down to move a few boxes at the bottom of the closet. “They’re much more organized than that. I don’t exactly know how big it is. I was never privy to that.” She dragged her overnight bag out of the back corner and turned around. “I just … dated some prick who was a drug runner for them back when I was too stupid to know better.”

She watched the distaste cross Wyatt’s face, and her heart died a little. One of the things she loved most about her brief times with Wyatt was how he looked at her like she really was the sweet, innocent thing he believed her to be. Like she was something precious and fragile. Unlike everyone else she knew, he hadn’t looked at her through the filter of her past and all the mistakes she’d made when she was using. Or through the even darker glass of being a victim. Only a handful of people knew what she’d endured at the hands of her mother’s murderer last year. But once someone knew, that was all the person saw—assault victim. Now streaks of that ugliness were tainting the bright little bubble of space between her and Wyatt.

“Where are you going to go?” he asked, shutting the front door behind him and bolting it. “My company has corporate apartments we rent. You can stay in one of those if you need a place.”

She shook her head. The last thing she wanted was some handout. “Thanks, I appreciate it, but I can stay at my sister and her fiancé’s place.”

That was a lie. She wasn’t going to put Brynn and Reid at risk on her behalf. Not again. Reid had taken a bullet the last time he’d rescued Kelsey, and her sister had almost ended up dead. But Kelsey couldn’t tell Wyatt where she was really heading. He’d already found out enough of her secrets today. The last thing he needed to know was what she did as her night job.

Wyatt frowned, obviously not thrilled with that plan, but he nodded. “Pack your bag, and I’ll drive you.”

“I have a car downstairs. I just take the bus some days to work to save money on gas.”

“Then I’ll follow you there to make sure you’re safe.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but what was the point? In truth, having someone watch her back as she left the apartment wasn’t a bad thing. The D-Towners were probably just trying to scare her, but she also knew they were capable of a lot worse than that, so she wasn’t going to take any chances. “Thanks. Guess you probably shouldn’t have stuck around for that muffin today. You’d be tucked safely in your office by now none the wiser, making people their millions.”

He shook his head. “Best decision I’ve made in a long time. The millions will still be there tomorrow.”

And now, because of him, she would still be around, too. “Thank you, Wyatt. Really. I’m so—”

He held up a hand. “If you apologize one more time for something that is absolutely not your fault, you’re going to see my mean side.”

The threat shouldn’t have sent a hot shiver through her, but it did. The image of the quietly intense executive losing some of that nothing-phases-me exterior called to her in a way she couldn’t even define. The feeling was foreign, frightening. The fact that he’d shut down the possibility of them sleeping together was probably a very, very good thing, even if her hormones hadn’t quite jumped on board with that plan yet. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“I’ll be here.” Wyatt sat down on her loveseat, pulled out his cell phone, and started scanning through emails as if he’d wait forever if that was how long she needed.

She stood there watching him for a few moments longer than necessary, knowing that this would probably be the last time she’d have him this close. Sure, she’d be able to hide out for a few weeks, but this wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. She’d thought she’d escaped undetected the last time, but clearly they’d discovered the role she’d played in Raymond Miller’s downfall. And if D-Town was determined to hurt her, she wasn’t going to be safe anywhere near their territory.

She let out a long breath and turned her back, heading toward her bedroom. Wyatt didn’t know it, but their fictional love affair was about to come to a quick and quiet end.

Because she was going to have to leave her life here in Dallas.

And leave him.

THREE

Wyatt leaned back in his desk chair, scanning the report on his computer screen and only half-listening to his father prattle on. Wyatt didn’t have the patience for a Bill Austin lecture on a good day, much less this morning. After showing up at the Sugarcane Cafe for the second week in a row to find no Kelsey, Wyatt had left with heartburn and a bloodstream full of frustration.

Her co-worker, Nathan, had been like a fucking Navy SEAL with his ability to withstand interrogation. Wyatt had prodded the guy up one way and down the other trying to get information about Kelsey, even offering to pay Nathan for the information. But all the cook would reveal was that she was safe and that he didn’t know where she was, which was bullshit of course. That kid knew exactly where she was.

He admired the guy for being protective of his friend, but the not knowing was like a thorn burrowing into Wyatt’s brain. The whole situation was out of his control and that was completely unacceptable. He hadn’t been able to concentrate for shit since he’d last seen her. He’d even driven by her sister’s house like some lame stalker to see if her car was there. It wasn’t. And when he’d knocked on the door to the house, no one had been home.

Then this morning he’d come in to find a message from the cop who’d handled the alley incident, letting Wyatt know that the asshole had made bail. Kelsey’s attacker was out there, roaming the streets like nothing had fucking happened. Our brilliant legal system at its best.

“Wyatt, you were supposed to handle this,” his father barked. “You can’t just say no to big-time clients because you feel like it.”

He huffed his annoyance. “I was busy this weekend. And I don’t eat deer, so why would I waste time shooting one?”

His father made that frustrated noise of his, like the hiss of trapped steam leaking out of a pipe. “Wyatt, you—it isn’t about the deer. You know that.”

Wyatt minimized the screen and turned toward his father, bored with this conversation already. He had bigger things to worry about than some self-important client getting his pride hurt over a declined invitation. “I bet the deer would beg to differ.”

His dad’s palm landed on top of the desk, a soft smack but pointed nonetheless. “This isn’t a joke.”

Wyatt closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “Didn’t say it was.”

His father tugged at his necktie and tightened it again, obviously trying to regain his trademark Bill Austin composure. “Dirk Billings wants to trust the guy handling his fortune. He wants to feel connected to him. Like buddies.”

“And sitting for hours in a wooden box with guns and cheap beer to shoot something I don’t even eat is going to accomplish this?” Wyatt shook his head and straightened the papers on his desk. “If he wants trust, he needs to look at my record and talk to my other clients. If he wants to feel connected, I’m more than happy to schedule regular phone calls or meetings to go over his portfolio. I spent last weekend analyzing the numbers from last quarter. We have some quirks in there that don’t make sense. That’s what I needed to spend my time on. Not hanging out in the woods doing tick checks with a windbag.”

The thought of being caught in a deer stand, making chitchat with a guy who thought the South should’ve won, was Wyatt’s personal version of hell. He’d end up turning the gun on his client instead of the wildlife. That wouldn’t be good for the company image.

His father’s skin went ruddy, his hold on his anger obviously dwindling. “Ignoring this part of the business is not going to work anymore, son. Merrill and Mead are giving that level of personal service to their clients. They’re stealing them away from us with good ol’ boy wining and dining. Or golfing and hunting as the case may be. Those imbeciles don’t have anything on you when it comes to the financials, but if you don’t learn how to play the nicey-nice game, we’re going to keep losing big fish. You want that jerk you graduated with to woo away all of our clients?”

Wyatt’s jaw clenched at that thought. Tony Merrill had been an arrogant prick in graduate school, and time had only seemed to enhance those attributes. Wyatt had received a jovial email a few months earlier from Tony thanking him for sending over one of his best clients. Jerkoff. “When their net worth starts going down because Tony doesn’t know his ass from an alligator, they’ll return.”

“They’re not coming back, Wyatt,” his father said quietly. Too quietly. Wyatt had feared that lethal tone when he was a kid. It usually meant fire and brimstone were coming.

“Don’t panic, Dad.” Wyatt turned back to his computer to click open the next page in the report. “You’ve got the Carmichael retreat at the end of the month. And you always come back with new clients from that. You handle the ass kissing and spouse charming, and I’ll keep their business here with the results I can get them.”

His father shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “I’m not going to be able to attend the retreat this year.”

Wyatt’s hand stilled against his mouse, and he spun his chair back toward his father. That retreat was a must. Business leaders killed to get invitations to the exclusive trip put on each year by real estate tycoon Edward Carmichael. On the surface, it was billed as a relax and unwind trip for executives and their spouses. But that casual, guards-down atmosphere was where deals were made and partnerships were formed. “What are you talking about? That retreat was responsible for three of our biggest new clients last year.”

“Your mother has threatened divorce. So we’re going to a thing,” he said, giving a near imperceptible shrug.

Wyatt stared at him, the words not quite making sense at first. Divorce? His parents had never had what anyone would call a loving relationship. His dad wasn’t an easy man to live with and had cheated more than once. But he and his mom had always seemed to have a mutual agreement to stay together—like a polite business arrangement. “A thing?”

“Some counseling vacation.” He scoffed and tightened his tie again. “As if that could be called a vacation. All that touchy-feely hippie bullshit. But she’s going to leave me if I don’t go with her.”

“Jesus, Dad.”

His father waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t start the pity party. It’ll be fine. I think your mother just had some white light moment when she had that heart attack and is getting loopy on me. We’ll do this, I’ll buy her something nice, and we’ll move on. We always do.”

Not with that attitude. But Wyatt kept the comment to himself. If his mom wanted to make a run at a happier life, he wasn’t going to begrudge her that.

“Which is why I’m going to need you to handle the retreat and not fuck it up.”

Wyatt was still reeling from the previous news, but of course his father wasn’t going to linger on anything non-business related for long. “Me? I can’t go on the retreat. Who’s going to handle things here why you’re out? I’ll just cancel it this year. Carmichael will understand.”

A muscle twitched in his father’s jowl. “No. He won’t. We’ll be cut right off the guest list for the future. I’ve been working on getting that family’s accounts for years and I’m this close. One rebuff and it’s gone. Plus, Tony Merrill will be there. If we cancel, we may as well hand our clients over to him with a bow around their necks.”

Wyatt leaned back in his chair, rubbing his head, the thought of attending a Carmichael retreat curling dread in his stomach. Wyatt had never been, but he knew it wasn’t anything like the business conferences he attended. This was a schmoozing trip. No workshops, no meetings, it was all about rubbing elbows and kissing ass.

And Wyatt didn’t kiss ass.

“I’m not going on some trip to tell people how fucking fantastic they are. I’m not a salesman.”