Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) (25 page)

She could still hear the SUV idling on the road. What was he waiting for? Why wouldn’t he just go?

It didn’t matter. She was done. Flipping the lock on the door, Ryann left her suitcase right where she dropped it and made a beeline up the stairs, straight for the bathroom. What she needed right now was a hot, steamy bath. After pressing the plug into the drain of the antique claw-footed bathtub, she added lavender and rosemary oils to the water and headed back downstairs to pour a tall glass of wine.

Exhaustion blanketed her, and every effort felt like an insurmountable task. After being up all night and traveling all day, the only thing she wanted to think about was soaking away her aches and pains and going to sleep. As she passed the front door, she tried not to look out the side window, refusing to give Aiden another minute of her attention. But the reflection of headlights caught the corner of her eye, giving her pause. She ignored the subtle tug in her heart telling her to stop. She’d be damned if she was going to give Aiden the satisfaction of seeing her staring out the window, pining away for him.

After she got out of the tub, she’d call Madeline Kruze and let her know that Aiden was now in New York. Despite how things were left between them, she had no doubt Aiden would carry through on his agreement to meet with his mother. He knew what was at stake if he didn’t. Her job here was done. Dealing with that man was Lady Kruze’s problem now.

Ryann shoved the cork back into the bottle of merlot, grabbed her glass, and headed up to her waiting bath. One of the things she loved the most about her family’s brownstone was the bathroom. The tub had deep sides, perfect for soaking. It was her number one stress reliever—well, that and a glass of wine—and right now she had 185 pounds of stress to unload. She glanced at her wineglass as she set it on the small table beside the tub, thinking she should have grabbed the whole bottle.

Stripping off her clothes, she eased into the steaming water and sighed. Her muscles were stiff from the long car ride, aching from inactivity, while other places were sore from too much activity. Unbidden, the memory of last night came rushing to the forefront of her mind, ushering in a wave of soul-deep regret—not for what they’d shared together, but for the way things ultimately ended between them.

With a half a glass of merlot warming her insides, and the lavender-rosemary scented bath warming her outside, Ryann sank deeper into the tub and closed her eyes. She thought again of her parting conversation with Aiden. The replay stung no less the second time around. Bottom line: His mistrust in her, whether founded or not, had wounded her deeply. And she hadn’t reacted well. Lashing out wasn’t typically her style, but when it came to Aiden Kruze, she didn’t know herself nearly as well as she thought she did. If someone would have told her three weeks ago that she was going to meet a man, commit a felony, and fall in love, she would never have believed it. Yet here she was, wallowing in heartache and a healthy dose of self-pity. Draining her glass, she set it on the decorative table beside the tub and slipped beneath the water. Well, shit . . . What now?

Thump!

The muffled sound sent Ryann bolting upright, breaking through the water with a startled gasp. What in the hell was that? Wiping her hands across her face, she cleared the water from her eyes and strained to listen, but couldn’t hear anything past the thundering of her heartbeat. Had the sound come from inside or outside? Was Aiden at the door? Had he refused to leave things like this between them? The thought of seeing him flooded her with a score of mixed emotions. She was still upset, and justifiably so, but Ryann regretted leaving him like she did. What had he been about to say when he’d tried to stop her from leaving the car? She really should go talk to him.

When the knock came again, it spurred her into action. Ryann stood and quickly dried before grabbing the bathrobe hanging on the hook behind her. She slipped into the terry-cloth wrap and rushed across the hall to her bedroom to pull on a sweatshirt and yoga pants. As she descended the stairs, another round of knocking was starting again. When she reached the landing, she peeked outside but could only see the silhouette of his shadow behind the door. Grabbing the knob, she turned the lock and opened the door. “Aiden, I’m—”

Her apology died in her throat when her eyes connected with a man she didn’t recognize. Wait, that wasn’t true. He looked familiar, she just couldn’t place where she’d seen him before. The man was tall, not quite as tall as Aiden, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in width. He wore a three-piece suit and a deadpan expression that faltered as his dark brown gaze took a sweeping assessment of her. His top lip curled in wry amusement, not quite passing for a grin.

A shiver of unease needled up her spine, her grip on the door tightening. “Can I help you?”

“Good evening, Ms. Andrews.”

That voice . . . Oh, God help her, it was him. Instant dawning registered, the connection clicked into place, sending a surge of adrenaline flooding into her veins. Her father’s funeral, that was where she’d seen him before. Ryann pushed the door shut, but the toe of his shoe slipped inside and kept it from closing. With brute strength, the man forced the door open and pushed his way inside. Ryann let out a startled yelp and stumbled back. Turning, she dashed for the stairs, hell-bent on reaching her father’s gun, which she kept in the top drawer of her nightstand.

If she could just get to it . . .

A few steps from the top stair, a beefy hand clamped around her ankle and the man jerked her feet out from under her. A terrified scream tore from her throat as Ryann fell—hard. Air exploded from her lungs when her chest slammed into the stairs. Her head cracked against the top lip of the staircase and blackness swamped her vision, stars bursting behind her eyelids as a tidal wave of dizziness crashed into her and dragged her into a sea of oblivion.

CHAPTER

 26 

W
elcome home, Mr. Kruze.”

Aiden froze. The delay in translation from English to understanding left him standing there a moment, staring at the doorman like a complete idiot. God, he was a wreck. Unable to get his mind off Ryann, and how royally he’d fucked things up with her, left him feeling and no doubt looking like a cast member of
The
Walking Dead
.

“Thank you, Fredrick,” Aiden mumbled in passing. “Wish I could say it was nice to be back.”

Forcing one foot in front of the other, he felt like he was walking toward a prison cell instead of approaching his four-million-dollar pad. Stopping in front of the elevator, he hit the Up button, and when the doors slid open he shuffled inside. Turning to the keypad, he entered the six-digit code to his penthouse and stood there numbly waiting for the elevator to take him to the thirty-second floor.

He should call Ryann. See how she was doing and tell her he was sorry for what he’d said. Since leaving her place, he’d been wracking his brain, trying to decide his best course of action. How could he make things right with her? She deserved a hell of a lot more than an apology for doubting her. He’d been hoping he could continue seeing her while he was in town, but before he’d gotten around to asking her, he’d let his suspicions get the best of him.
Note to self: Don’t accuse your girl of lying to you without hard-core proof. And whatever you do, don’t bring up her past mistakes. That shit’s the curse of death right there.

“Fuck . . .” he groaned, dragging his hand through his hair and looking up at the ceiling. His gaze caught the red light of the camera in the corner. “Hey, that you, Roz?”

“Good evening, Mr. Kruze,” the feminine voice called over the intercom. “Is everything all right?”

“Just peachy.”

“If you don’t mind me saying, sir, I hardly recognized you. I see you’ve done some redecorating.”

He grunted a humorless laugh and subconsciously tongued
the
hoop through his bottom lip. No doubt he was a sight: piercings through his brow, his lip, his ears, and sleeved in tattoos exposed by an ill-fitting, grungy V-neck. His reflection in the steel doors proved
his hair was a wild mess after he’d dragged his hand through it a hun
dred fucking times since dropping Ryann off. Unless he was heading
to the gym, hardly a day had gone by that he hadn’t stepped onto this
elevator without wearing a suit and looking anything less than 100
percent put together. Right about now, he’d be lucky to hit 30 percent.

“Is this not working for you, Roz?”

“I umm . . . Well, it’s just . . .”

Aiden chuckled, a half-hearted rumble in his chest at the woman’s shock and obvious discomfort. The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. “See ya later, sweetheart.” He gave the camera a saluting wave and stepped into the hall.

“Good evening, Mr. Kruze,” she responded stiffly. “It’s good to have you back.”

He wasn’t back—well, not for long, anyway. Aiden entered the code to his front door and stepped inside. Kicking off his shoes, he walked into the dining room and emptied his pockets into the decorative bowl in the center of the table—keys, wallet, cell phone . . . Shit, he should really call Ryann. Later, he decided, because yeah, he was pussying out and hoped a little time might help her cool off a bit. Moving on, he took an assessing lap around the place. Everything was just how he left it—still spotless. Good to know the monthly cleaning fees weren’t going to waste. The penthouse was so immaculate, there was a do-not-touch vibe all over it, not that the place was warm and welcoming on its best day.

Pristine white walls with an occasional abstract painting placed here and there by his interior designer, adding a splash of color to the otherwise cool and impersonal dwelling. He wouldn’t call it a home. There were no family pictures lining the mantel of his fireplace, no personal effects lying scattered around. Aiden stopped as he passed the glass wall in the living room, pausing a moment to take in the Manhattan skyline.

It was one of the few things he loved about this place, and it was the sole reason he’d purchased it three years ago. It was an impressive sight to behold, and one that resonated someplace deep inside him. It was times like this, late at night, where he would stare out the window at the towering buildings, the lighted bridge stretching across the water, and imagine how easy it would be to just disappear. This beautiful view was the one thing he would miss . . .

The phone rang, fracturing the first moment of blessed peace he’d had in days. Muttering a nasty curse, he turned from the window and crossed over to the couch and dropped into a lazy sprawl before lifting the receiver from the docking station on the end table. Caller ID confirmed what he already knew. “Hi, Mom.”

“Aiden, you’re home. So nice of you to let me know you’d arrived.”

Ignoring the barb, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn, he was tired. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to curl up next to Ryann in his king-sized bed and sleep the next two days away. The thought of her sent a pang of regret arrowing into his heart. He really needed to call her. This was ridiculous.

“I just got back. Whatever you want, can it wait until tomorrow?”

“I was calling to let you know the reservation for Pret was moved to ten a.m. Your father has an early meeting—”

“Of course he does.” Good to know some things never changed.

“Well then, I’ll see you at ten.”

“Yep.”

She hesitated a moment, giving him the sense she wanted to say something more. She must have thought better of it, because after a long pause, she said, “Good-bye, Aiden.” And the line went dead before he could respond.

When Aiden’s alarm went off the next morning, he glared at the piece of shit and sandwiched his head in between two pillows. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours all night, and at this point, he felt like he was running on pure adrenaline. Ryann was refusing to take his calls. He knew she was pissed, and rightfully so, but there was a part of him that hadn’t actually believed this was really the end when she’d said good-bye. Apparently, she was a woman of her word, because four phone calls, two voice mails, and three text messages all yielded the same result—nada. She wouldn’t talk to him.

He wasn’t used to being on this side of the coin. Usually he was the one doing the avoiding. Fuck, he’d become the clinger. Exhaling a frustrated sigh, he tossed back the covers and planted his feet on the floor. Well, not anymore, he didn’t have time for relationship drama bullshit. He had a day chock-full of unpleasantness as it was. He certainly didn’t need to add to his shit list of things to do. He planned to meet his parents for brunch, and have a meeting with Vincent Moralli where he’d settle up Ryann’s debt once and for all. Whether she cared about him or not, Aiden wasn’t about to let her drive herself into bankruptcy to pay her dead father’s debt. Once he squared things away with Moralli, he’d make it clear Ryann was hands off. With her issues put to rest, he could clear his conscience of any last remnant of guilt. Then he could focus on dealing with his own fucked-up mess, and Ryann could get back to her life. If she preferred to pretend he didn’t have a place in it, then that was her prerogative. He didn’t need a woman complicating his life any more than it already was—no matter how attractive, or beguiling, or utterly amazing she might be.

Aiden stood before the full-length mirror and tugged the slipknot of his tie into place, thinking he might possibly puke. Leave it to Madeline to choose a restaurant he’d have to wear a suit to get in. He snagged the Armani charcoal gray pinstripe coat off the foot of the bed and shrugged it on over his shoulders. At one time, the suit had fit him like a glove—like the thing had been tailored especially for him. Oh, wait, it
had
been. But just like life here, it didn’t fit anymore. It was too tight—too confining. His movement was restricted, and the silk cloth around his neck was choking the hell out of him.

Muttering a curse, he reached up and yanked at the collar, gaining another inch of breathing room. Fuck, this sucked. Fastening the jacket button, Aiden stepped back and surveyed the results. His ink might be covered, but he refused to remove his piercings. It might sound crazy, but he felt as if the metal somehow anchored him to his new life when his old one was threatening to drag him back under. His ink and piercings signified who he was and what he’d become. It was bad enough he was back in a monkey suit, but after spending the last fourteen months breaking free of his parents’ control, he refused to let his actions be dictated by their approval again.

Dragging his hand through his hair, he let the short, dark strands poke out wildly and took one last look in the mirror. He rubbed his thumb over the red mark on the side of his neck, riding just above the collar of his shirt, courtesy of Ryann. Maybe his mother would be so distracted by all the metal in his face, she wouldn’t notice it. It wasn’t that he cared what she thought of him; he just didn’t want to sit there and have to listen to her carry on.

It pissed him off how much he was dreading this meeting. For crissake, he was a grown man—a middleweight MMA fighter who didn’t fear anyone. And here he was, looking at his reflection in the mirror and seeing that ten-year-old little boy all over again, who wanted nothing more than his father’s approval and to hear his mother tell him, just once, that she loved him. This was so fucked up. Exhaling a snort of disgust, Aiden turned away from his reflection and told the little boy to quit being such a pussy.

The drive to Pret should have taken less than a half hour, but by the time he navigated traffic, parked, and got inside, he was fashionably late. Before he could tell the waitress his name and which party he was looking for, the woman told him to follow her and led him toward the back of the restaurant. His mother was sitting at a small table for two, her security guards flanking her from behind. She was on the phone as he walked over, her gaze darting up and locking on his. She would be a beautiful woman were it not for that perpetually perturbed expression on her face. His mother didn’t crack so much as a smile as he approached. Without removing the cell from her ear, she lifted her wrist and made a point of checking the time before arching her brow at him.