Asking for Trouble (8 page)

She nodded once, going from motherly to businesslike. “Stuart came from nothing. Paltry introductions from your father won’t give him instant credibility, but linking himself more firmly to the Winstead name
will
. He has a great fondness for you, Hayden. He’s agreed to pay off the loan only if you marry him.”

Hayden’s stomach bottomed out. Even though she’d seen the bombshell coming, it still hit like a well-placed blow. None of it seemed real. This morning, she’d woken up to her neatly ordered life. Before Brent had swaggered in and blasted holes in her perception of herself, of everything. Now, her freedom was in danger of being snatched away. A marriage of convenience. They still happened frequently in her world, but she’d never expected to be part of one. No, this couldn’t be happening.

“This came as a surprise to me, too, you know. I was blindsided when I saw our bank statement and realized how much of our family money he’s already sunk into fixing the problem. Millions upon millions. Gone. Of course, he refused to touch any of
your
charity accounts.”

Her mother watched her carefully. Hayden knew her horror must be showing on her face, because she finally went in for the kill. She spoke very quietly, but her words stung like little bees all over Hayden’s body. “Dear, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you what your father did for us all those years ago. Where we would be without him. Frankly, we owe him.” She clutched her purse in her lap. “Your father knows nothing of this, mind you, and we need to keep it that way. He’d be devastated if he knew I’d burdened you with this.”

Yes, Hayden thought dully, she did owe him. It was the only reason she’d even entertained the idea of marrying Stuart this long. Her father, her
paternal
father, was long dead. Two brothers had inherited millions of dollars and Winstead Investments, but only one had shouldered the responsibility of running it. The other had taken his half of the money and blown it on bad investments, partying, and women. She’d been the product of a one-night stand, back when her mother was a college student. Her father had overdosed before Hayden had been born, and her mother had been left behind with an unwanted pregnancy. She’d come to Hayden’s now-father, begging for help. After a paternity test, he’d taken them both in, adopting Hayden in the name of respectability.
Blood is blood
, she imagined he’d said. After all, she’d only been a baby at the time. But she knew this story by heart as her mother brought it up whenever it became necessary to keep her in line.

“Hayden?”

She stared at the floor. “How much time do I have to decide?”

“One week. You have one week.”

Chapter Eight

Hayden flopped back onto the cracked leather seat and signaled the bus driver to drive. Quickly. Before one of the three dozen kids behind her on the bus remembered they needed to pee or say another final goodbye to their parents. Deborah, the other volunteer for today’s expedition, dropped into the seat across the aisle, looking equally shell-shocked. Hayden had made this trip to a farm upstate as part of her Clean Air charity once a week throughout the entire summer, the goal being to take underprivileged kids out of the polluted city for the day, giving them a chance to experience life outside of Manhattan. Today marked their last trip of the season and she still hadn’t discovered a way to load the excited kids onto the bus without it turning into a three-ring circus.
Did that make her the ringleader or a clown?

Her relieved exhale was lost among the shouting and laughter coming from the back of the bus, but she couldn’t deny feeling a sense of accomplishment. She’d watched the children flourish over the summer, working with animals and spending time around nature. While Hayden preferred the city, she’d never once felt trapped by limited financial resources, as if she couldn’t leave. Her family’s frequent vacations had made sure of that. Yet she was painfully aware that she could have easily been one of these kids if it weren’t for her father. As always, the reminder of her father’s selflessness caused an invisible weight to press down on her shoulders. Only now it felt twice as heavy.

She’d had a difficult time sleeping last night. After having her mother drop the Stuart bombshell on her, she’s been kept wide-awake by the possibility of an arranged marriage. It certainly didn’t help matters that she suddenly wanted a man she despised, or
should
despise, rather. Time had flown while she pondered her fate, tossing and turning in bed, the ticking clock on her decision already speeding by in a blur. Sometime around 3:00 a.m., Hayden thought she had the crisis solved. Her mother mentioned her father’s reluctance to use the money set aside in her name. She would just have to convince him otherwise.

Unfortunately, she’d promised her mother not to betray their conversation to her father, putting her back at square one. Marrying Stuart. One week left her little time to attempt much else.

Even with such a heavy choice occupying her mind, the memories of her night with Brent refused to fade. An image of his intense expression as he drove into her swam through her head.
Brent.
Damn. Just thinking his name made her feel hot and anxious. Her body buzzed, begging for more of the stimulation he’d provided. More of what she might very likely never experience again. No, she had to stop thinking in terms of mights and maybes. They weren’t traveling down that orgasmic road ever again. Even if she somehow got out of marrying Stuart, she didn’t want to engage in a physical relationship with someone who couldn’t see past her lifestyle to the person underneath. Having sex with someone who disliked her and everything she represented made her feel used. Hurt. Something she wasn’t expecting.

Regardless of her damaged feelings, she’d been unable to go five minutes without thinking about him. Then almost immediately, thoughts of the conversation with her mother would intrude and thinking of Brent would start to hurt for an entirely different reason. A cycle she could really do without.

The bus jerked and sputtered, shooting Hayden forward in her seat.
What the hell?
Their driver met her eyes in the rearview mirror and shrugged. Always a comforting sign. Even less comforting? When the bus made an eerily human-like groan and coasted to a stop on the side of the West Side Highway. Hayden sat glued to her seat for a moment, waiting for some divine intervention to save them. After casting a panicked glance at Deborah, she twisted around in her seat. Traffic on the highway was already backing up. Horns honked. Drivers snaked past shaking their heads. For once all the kids were completely silent, all wearing disappointed expressions, no doubt thinking this unforeseen disaster meant they would miss their last week escaping the city.

Then all at once, those sad expressions focused on her. Oh God, they were all counting on her and she’d maxed out her skill set organizing the outing and loading them onto the bus. Judging from their faces, it was painfully obvious, even to the group of fourth graders, that their leader was sorely lacking.

“Shoot,” Hayden muttered under her breath. She rose and went to the driver. “Do you know how to fix this thing?” He didn’t even have the grace to answer. Simply shook his head and climbed off the bus to light a cigarette. She took a deep breath and dug her cell phone out of her pocket. Ten minutes later, she got through to someone at roadside assistance. “An hour?” She practically shouted into the receiver. “I’m in a bus with thirty-six kids blocking a lane on the West Side Highway. Does impending mutiny really not count as an emergency?” The unhelpful voice on the other end went silent, obviously not finding amusement in her harried joke. She heaved a breath. “Okay…look, just forget it. I’ll figure something else out.”

“They say an hour,” Deborah chimed in when Hayden hung up, “but look at the traffic behind us. It’ll take a tow truck two hours just to get through to us.”

Super helpful, Deborah!
A Nerf football flew past her and got lodged on the dashboard. Restless energy became a tangible thing on the bus. Hayden knew she needed to figure out something quick. It appeared she was on her own in resolving this problem. She knew what she needed to do, but her reluctance to call Brent and give him the satisfaction made her dial his number extra slowly. Before he even answered, she was already irritated with him.

Brent answered sounding amused. “We’re going to need a bigger boat.”

Even in her annoyed state, she couldn’t help but feel a hint of relief that he hadn’t ignored her call after their argument the night before. “What are you talking about?”

“Your personal ringtone is the
Jaws
theme song.”

Hayden smirked as if he could see her. “Can’t see how that makes any sense.
Jaws
had a sequel. We won’t.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why are you calling?”

Shit. Just say it.
“Try to keep the gloating to a minimum, but I need your…help.”

“What’s wrong?”

She was momentarily thrown off by how instantly and genuinely concerned he sounded. Why couldn’t he just gloat and make this easier for her? “Oh, not much. I’m broken down in a bus on the West Side Highway. With a bunch of kids who are about to go
Lord of the Flies
on my ass.”

“That’s
you
?” He cursed under his breath and she could hear the sound of tires squealing in the background. “They already sent over a car. They’re having to reroute traffic. You’re causing major delays, duchess.”

“Not helping.”

“I’m on my way,” he assured her, adding, “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Couldn’t resist, could you?”

…

Lights flashing on the top of his Emergency Service truck, Brent pulled to a stop in front of the stationary yellow school bus, wondering not for the first time what the hell Hayden was doing on a bus with schoolkids. He radioed dispatch to alert them that he’d arrived on the scene, then climbed out of the vehicle, immediately searching through the windshield for Hayden. He’d been hungry for a glimpse of her since last night, but he’d never imagined it would be under such odd circumstances. A motorist passed the bus, blaring his horn, and Brent sent him a dark look.

That pretty much summed up his mood since leaving her bed the previous night.

She’d thrown him for a goddamn loop, after which he’d been treated to a nice little put-down by her mother on the way out. For a brief second, he’d actually felt sorry for Hayden. Mommy Dearest appeared to be about as maternal as a cobra. Not that he expected Mom to embrace him and invite him to her next women’s luncheon. After all, he’d just walked out of Hayden’s town house, hair all fucked-up, shirt untucked, with a look on his face that clearly said,
Pardon my appearance
,
I just plowed your daughter
. She’d looked him over and sniffed her judgment.
Well,
I guess we’re all entitled to a few mistakes now and again,
she’d said, clearly pegging him as said mistake.

After that little heartwarming confrontation, one thing had been abundantly clear. He’d made the right decision in leaving. Prior to that, he’d felt slightly conflicted about walking out, thinking maybe he’d overreacted. Her actions hadn’t seemed malicious or intentionally baiting. Then he’d been reminded by her mother why they’d wisely agreed to limit their physical relationship to one night. He didn’t need these people making him feel like gum on the bottom of their polished shoes. And she clearly wanted nothing more to do with him now that she’d gotten her fill.

None of his rationalizations, however, did a thing to calm his constant, consuming craving for her. Her total abandonment, her screams of pleasure, drowned every other intelligent thought out until he only had the ability to think of next time. What he’d do to her, say to her, to get her wet. How many times he could make her come before finding his own release. Pointless thoughts, since she’d made it clear it was a one-time thing. Thoughts that wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace, all the same.

The bus door opened and Hayden climbed out. Brent’s eyebrows shot up. He’d never seen Hayden in shorts and sneakers. Ever. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looked so damn sweet and innocent, it brought him up short. Her white T-shirt read Clean Air Initiative 2013, her father’s company logo beneath. In an attempt to hide his reaction, he strode back to his ESU truck and pulled his emergency mechanic’s tools out from under the passenger-side seat. “You’re lucky I have these with me,” he called over the honking traffic. “I lent them to a buddy last week and he returned them this morning. They’d normally be at home.”

“Yes,” she replied, exasperation in her voice. “You have my undying gratitude, officer.”

Brent turned with a sarcastic rejoinder on his lips, but when he saw her up close the words died in his throat. She looked…exhausted, eyes puffy with dark smudges underneath. Her usual radiance dulled by pale skin and a tired expression. As if she’d been crying. Why had she been crying? Please God, not because of him or what they’d done. Or how he abandoned her when she’d possibly wanted him again. He wanted to question her. Demand answers. But like an idiot, he’d agreed not to discuss their night together ever again. Where the hell did that leave him?

When she cleared her throat uncomfortably, Brent realized he’d been staring at her without speaking. Her expression was decidedly closed off, telling him that he wouldn’t be appeasing his curiosity any time soon. With a case of reluctance, he skirted past her toward the bus. “All right, let’s see what’s—” Brent lifted the hood and steam poured out. “Well, that’s promising.”

Hayden buried her face in her hands with a groan. “Take me to the closest bar?”

“Don’t start lining up imaginary shots just yet.” He set his steel toolbox down on the concrete. After waving away most of the steam, he propped the hood open and peered inside. Checking various sections of the engine for the part requiring repair, he strove to keep his voice casual. Even though, with her standing so close, he felt anything but. “So what are you doing on a bus? Not exactly your typical mode of transportation.”

“Yeah, well, my stretch Hummer is in the shop.”

Brent glanced over, caught off guard by Hayden’s uncharacteristically self-deprecating tone. Her worried gaze was fixed on something in the bus windshield. He followed her line of sight and saw at least twenty preteens, faces pressed against the glass, watching them intently. One of the girls waved at her and she returned the gesture with a shaky smile.

“Are you gonna fix it, Miss Hayden?”

Her throat worked as she looked toward Brent for an answer. That look impacted him like a blow to the chin. She needed him. It was right there in her expression.
Fix it, Brent.
That look called to the provider inside him, twice as amplified around Hayden. He needed a moment to rein it back in. Before she glimpsed the vulnerability and ripped him to shreds over it. He was saved by the kids yelling once more through the glass.

“We’re going to be too late to milk the cows!”

“Tell that cop to show us his gun!”

Apparently the surprises weren’t over. “Did he just say ‘milk the cows’?”

She nodded without meeting his eyes. “We’re taking them up to Meadowstar Farm for the day. They have cows there. Moving on.”

Everything clicked into place then. Clear Air Initiative. Even Brent had heard about the popular charity on the local news. He’d had no idea Hayden was involved in any way, but based on the company logo on her shirt and the kids’ obvious comfort with her, she’d committed herself to the cause. How long had she been shuttling these kids upstate without him having a single clue? Brent had too many questions, so he started with the most pressing. “Do
you
milk the cows?”

“Yes.” Her face softened slightly. “Once. My hands were too cold. Bessie was
udderly
pissed.”

Hiding his smile, Brent crouched down to remove tools and a spare quart of antifreeze from his box. Dammit, the need to kiss her wouldn’t go away. It was difficult to ignore when they were taking shots at each other. Now? When she stood there in her pristine white Converse, hitting him with more goofy wordplay? It was damn near impossible. And it reminded him of his all-too-brief time in her bed.
Focus.
“All right,
Miss
Hayden. It looks like you’ve got an antifreeze leak coming from one of your hose clamps.”

“Solid.”

She cast another concerned look at the hovering students, several of them giving her a thumbs-up in encouragement. They looked at her as if she were invincible, Brent thought, but she clearly didn’t see it. At the moment, she appeared too focused on this failure, which was totally out of her control. Suddenly, it became imperative to him that she see what those kids saw.