Sins of My Father (Black Brothers #1) (11 page)

Gripping her waist, I rocked my hips into her, and she started to move.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Wanting control, I flipped her onto her back, and I slammed into her over and over, grinding against her pelvis, taking what I wanted and giving her what she needed. With every thrust, I slipped into a place I shouldn’t go, especially not with her. But my brain was too fuzzy with lust to do anything about it. There were no more thoughts of revenge or destroying Senator Wharton. Only us. Only this moment. It was unequaled and untainted.

Her sharp inhalation followed by a shaky moan, echoed through the car like music to my ears. The prison bars around my heart rattled and warped and somehow Langley swept inside like she’d always belonged there. This wasn’t going to last long, but I didn’t care, and I didn’t think she did either.

Tilting her hips up, I deepened my thrusts. Pleasure zipped through my body making me greedy for her. “Do you still think we should end this?” I groaned next to her ear. “Is that what you really want?”

“No,” she whispered, the single word tangling with a throaty moan.

“Remember that the next time you try to throw us away.” My voice was thick with lust, need, and a little desperation. I was only distantly aware that we were still in my car, my driver not five feet away with only a sheet of glass separating him from us.

Her eyes opened, holding my gaze. A sensual smile toyed with the corner of her lips. “Yes,” she murmured, tracing the angle of my jaw with her fingertips.

That simple word combined with the sultry glow of her eyes ignited a soul-stealing tremor down my spine. My willpower splintered as I moved frantically in and out of her, chasing our mutual release like this could be our last.

“Fuck,” I half-groaned, half-growled as a warm fervor rushed through my blood like a shot of morphine.

Then, she screamed, and I devoured her erotic cries with my mouth. Our breath mingled. Our tongues knitted together like two pieces of a puzzle, and I continued moving and taking what I wanted. With every flex of my hips, her inner muscles clenched around me, robbing me of coherent thought. Even if I wanted to hold back, I didn’t think I’d succeed, so I let go.

Like being hit by wrecking ball, a seismic wave of pleasure ripped through my body, and I spilled inside her. Our eyes locked in an embrace, and we rode every swell of mutual euphoria, hard and fast, until everything but the two of us joined together in bliss, vanished from memory.

With unfocused eyes, she stared up at me, her thick, golden braid spilling off the leather seat and swinging back and forth like a pendulum. Leaning forward, I brushed a kiss over her lips.

Slowly, I untangled our bodies. I watched as she pulled up her pants and smoothed her hair. Then, I zipped and buckled my pants. The backseat of the car suddenly felt too small as I waited for her to say something…anything.

Did she regret it? Did she think I pressured her? Fuck. I didn’t want her to push me away, even though it’d probably be the best outcome for both of us. Eventually, I’d ruin her with my quest for revenge, and her inevitable rejection of me would cut deeper than I wanted to admit. Maybe it had something to do with being rejected by my father. I didn’t want to analyze it, but I couldn’t ignore it either.

“I guess I don’t have time for lunch now,” she said and then laughed. Her laugh was like an arrow piercing my heart, claiming me before I had the wherewithal to object.

“We can stop somewhere and grab something quick.”

“I can’t.” She tapped the rectangular face of my wristwatch. “I have a patient in ten minutes.”

“Cancel it,” I said, even though I knew she couldn’t.

“I can’t.”

“Okay. I’ll bring you some food after I drop you off.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

I tugged on the end of her braid. “I know, but I want to. What kind of lunch date would I be if I sent you back to work hungry?”

She smiled. “A very satisfying one.”

I chuckled. “Don’t start or you will have to cancel you next appointment.”

“I wish we could spend the afternoon together,” she said, the smile slipping off her face.

She opened the car door to get out.

“Wait.” I grabbed her wrist.

“What?”

“We still need to talk. Can I meet you at your house tonight at six? Will that work?”

“No.” Her eyes darted toward the entrance of her work. “I’ll come over to your place.”

“All right. I’ll see you at six.”

She nodded. “Six,” she said, then stepped out of the car without another word.

Damn her. Something was definitely going on with her, and she didn’t have any intention of sharing it with me. I’d be pissed if I weren’t so fascinated by her.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Langley

The rest of my day was awful. I couldn’t concentrate on my patients. Guilt twisted my stomach into a pretzel for failing to sever ties with Archer. Todd’s eyes followed me all afternoon as though he suspected how I’d spent my lunch break.

My emotions fluctuated wildly. One second, I was drowning in shame because I’d succumbed to Archer’s skillful seduction. The next, an overwhelming anxiety threatened to swallow me whole. My mind jogged in circles as I analyzed the pros and cons of being with Archer or giving him up.

Around four in the afternoon, as I watched my patient do a set of hip rotation exercises, I realized I couldn’t see Archer again unless I escaped my stepdad’s range of influence.

The first day after meeting Brandon, I’d convinced myself the accusations against my stepdad were crazy. The second day, I started to believe they held some truth. The third day, devastation settled into my heart. The last three days, I started questioning Archer’s suspiciously timed arrival in my life. I didn’t know what to believe anymore, and I guess it was irrelevant. Regardless of his motives, I didn’t have room for Archer in my life right now.

What did I really know about Archer besides what I’d read in the newspapers? He only allowed me to see what he wanted me to see—a carefully crafted illusion of a successful and considerate man in a five thousand dollar suit. The core of the real man behind the financial wizard with a compelling rags to riches story was unavailable, and I didn’t think he had any intention of inviting me inside anytime in the near future.

I’d spent my entire life in the clutches of the Wharton political machine where smoke and mirrors were the norm, not the exception, so I knew a façade when I saw one, and Archer had a good one. Unfortunately, with his little gestures—defending me from Brandon, accompanying me home, flowers, lunches—he’d sailed through my defenses, which meant I needed to end things permanently this time. Preferably before he had forged a lasting place in my heart.

When my last patient left at five thirty, I ran out the door without bothering to do paperwork. I paused as I reached the side of my car. Just like last weekend after I’d met with Brandon, a white piece of paper was stuffed under my windshield wiper. With trembling hands, I snatched the folded piece of paper off my windshield and got into the car.

For long seconds, I didn’t do anything. I stared at the paper in my lap. Part of me wanted to crumble it into a ball and toss it out the window without reading it, but in the end I opened the note. I didn’t have a choice.

Stay away from Archer Black.

This is your last warning.

My gut twisted into knots, and a whimper escaped my mouth. I cupped my face with my hands as silent tears tracked down my face. This was so fucked up. I couldn’t do this anymore. I didn’t know where to turn. I didn’t know who to trust. The only person who I still had faith in was Winnie, and there was no way I’d willingly drag her into this.

Unable to navigate the riddle my life had become, I tucked the note into my glove box and started driving. Instead of going to Archer’s house as I promised, I drove home. The minute I walked through my front door, I didn’t make the effort to change my clothes. I snagged a bottle of wine and a wine glass and turned on the television.

Two glasses of wine and thirty minutes after the designated time to go over Archer’s house, I sent him a text.

Me: Something came up. I can’t meet tonight.

Archer responded almost immediately.

Archer: Can I pick you up for breakfast tomorrow morning?

I dropped my phone on the coffee table, and my nails dug into my clenched fists. I didn’t know how to respond. As much as I wanted to crawl into Archer’s bed, find shelter in his arms, and forget all my problems, I wouldn’t let myself succumb to the desire to be close to him. I knew I’d regret it, but I had to let him go. I couldn’t trust him and couldn’t involve him in my messy life. Not now. Maybe never.

For the first time in my life, I was tempted to end a relationship over a text message. Just like this afternoon, I had no doubt Archer would skillfully evade my attempts to sever our relationship if I met him in person. After composing and deleting no less than five breakup texts, my mature side persevered. I was twenty-four, not sixteen. Twenty-four-year-olds didn’t dump someone by text. Well, they did, but I refused to do it. Instead, I composed a text aimed at buying time before I had to see him again.

Me: I have plans tomorrow.

For the most part, the text was the truth. Tomorrow morning, like most Saturday mornings, I had plans to play tennis with my mom. As much as I didn’t want to see my mom or stepdad, canceling would raise suspicion.

An hour passed and Archer hadn’t responded, which disappointed me more than I wanted to acknowledge. After habitually checking my phone for the next half hour, I turned it off and stuffed my phone under the sofa cushion. I mentally slapped myself for caring or believing Archer wouldn’t give up…that he wanted me enough to keep fighting for us.

Archer probably had a long list of women on speed dial, breathlessly waiting for him to invite them to do anything no matter how small or inconsequential. He was the whole package—wealthy, sinfully attractive, smart, and successful. I don’t know why I believed he’d continue to pursue me after I had pushed him away time and time again. It didn’t make sense.

I shook my head, chiding myself for losing focus. As far as I knew, I was the woman of the month, nothing more. I needed to stop romanticizing what had happened between us over the last few weeks and get over it. There was a reason why I stayed far away from men like Archer. He made me want too much. Need too much. Care too much.

More important issues required my attention…like my stepdad monitoring my calls and my home, the threatening notes on my car, and the colossal scandal brewing around my family. If my stepdad weren’t such a narcissist, he’d drop his plans to run for president.

Just as I drifted off to sleep, someone banged on my door, and I bolted upright on the sofa, knocking over my glass of wine in the process.
Shit.
Instead of heading for the door, I snagged a roll of paper towels off the counter to blot the pink hue of the rosé wine from my cream and gray prism wool rug.

The banging started again, harder and longer this time, rattling the frame of my aged wood door. “Who is it?” I yelled, still on my hands and knees next to the sofa.

“It’s Archer. Open the door, Langley.”

I crushed the paper towel into a tight ball. I couldn’t let him come in my house for so many reasons, not the least of which was the listening devices that may or may not be hidden somewhere in my house. For all I knew, there could be cameras too. I shivered thinking of the invisible eyes crawling all over me, inspecting and cataloging every move.

“What are you doing here?”

“I want to talk.”

I tossed the damp paper towel on my coffee table and cautiously shuffled to my door. “Now’s not a good time. Maybe later.”

“Dammit, Langley. What the hell is going on?”

I rested my head against the door, unable and unwilling to answer his question. I didn’t know where to start, which made me feel more alone than I had in recent memory. “I’m sorry, Archer. I can’t explain.”

He slammed his hand against the door, and the heavy wood rattled in the doorjamb. “Langley, are you serious? Open the door.”

I paced in front of door like a madwoman contemplating my options. I didn’t have any. “Fine,” I groaned. My hands shaking, I fumbled with the lock and then swung the door open.

Not waiting for an invitation, he stalked into my house. His dark eyebrows slashed downward, and his inky hair stuck up as though he’d ran his hand through it a hundred times in the last hour. He stared down at me for a long beat without saying a word, and my heart hammered in my chest awaiting what? His judgment. His next move. His final dismissal. I didn’t know.

“Why are you doing this?” He took one long stride toward me, his nearly black eyes glittering with a predatory gleam. “After what happened in the car today, I thought we were on the same page, but now we’re right back where we started before lunch,” he said harshly as he scrubbed his hand along the faint stubble on his jaw. “Just because you’re waffling right now doesn’t mean I’ll back off, Langley…not by a long shot.”

“You don’t have a choice. I tried to tell you today before you distracted me.”

“You tried to tell me what?”

I yanked his arm, dragging him out of my house and onto the front stoop. I slammed the door behind us. “I can’t sleep with you again. What happened today was wrong. You shouldn’t be here.” Despite my well-intentioned words, my mind wavered as the low hum of arousal buzzed through my body, lapping up his presence like it’d been a month since I’d seen him instead of hours. How did he do this to me?

“Wrong? How?” His eyes flickered to my closed door and then scanned my face. “Is there someone here with you?”

“No.” I positioned my body between the front door and him. I couldn’t let him go inside.

He looped his arm around my waist and caught his bottom lip between his teeth and then released it slowly as he leaned forward. I swayed into him like a blade of grass in the wind, helpless to stop myself. His dark hooded eyes worked better than a master hypnotist. I was under his spell, my lips already tingling in covetous expectancy of his kiss.

“Then you won’t mind if I look around,” he whispered, his warm minty breath caressing my face. The door flung open behind me, and he darted around me.

Damn him. “Get out.” I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my chest against the hard planes of his back. If Brandon’s accusations were accurate, I didn’t need my stepdad getting an earful or eyeful of Archer and whatever he had to say. “Please. Let’s not do this here,” I begged. Desperation clawed at my chest.

His muscles tensed under my fingertips. Then, he broke my hold on his waist and whirled around to face me in one smooth movement. His eyes flared with irritation and something else I didn’t recognize. “Why not here?”

“I can’t explain,” I said almost soundlessly, hoping my voice was too low for any listening device. God, I felt like I was going to explode under the weight of all the paranoia that had taken up a permanent residence in my mind since the meeting with Brandon.

“Name the time and place and stick to it,” he bit out. “Because I don’t like this cat and mouse game you’re playing with me.”

I shook my head slowly, keeping my eyes fastened on his. “I’m not playing with you.”

“How would you explain what you’re doing?”

“Complicated.”

“Then, uncomplicate it or explain it.” His voice was like gravel on glass. His muscles were coiled and the vein in his neck pulsed. I cringed at the frustration and anger rolling off him in waves.

I scanned the interior of my home, taking in the gray sofa, the painstakingly restored hardwood floor planks, and the photographs of friends and family lining the fireplace mantle. It didn’t even feel like my home anymore. In every detail, I saw a potential invasion of my privacy, and violated didn’t begin to describe the emotion burning like gasoline through my veins.

Every time I tried to push my stepdad away, some event, comment, or circumstance snapped me back into his sphere of influence. I didn’t know why my mom married him or stayed with him. I hated him. I hated what he’d done to my life, my mom, and my future. I hated his phony speeches feigning compassion for the less fortunate members of society. Senator Wharton only cared about himself and how fast he could climb the political ladders of power. Whose back he stepped on to get there didn’t matter. They were collateral damage sacrificed to nourish his delusions of grandeur and glory.

I may not be able to trust Archer, but I sure as hell couldn’t trust my stepdad. He was a liar, and he could be a murderer, which meant I was done.

Done protecting him and his political legacy.

Done playing the perfect family.

Done putting my life on hold for him and my mom.

Done sacrificing myself at the altar of the Wharton political machine.

I yanked my purse and gym bag off the hook in my entryway. I needed to get out of my house. Like everything else in my life, it belonged to Senator Wharton. I didn’t want to take the time to pack. His people could spy on this place all they wanted because I wouldn’t be here. Not anymore. I’d petition the trustee of the trust my dad left me for additional funds if I had to. I didn’t care.

“Let’s go to your house.” The rawness in my voice made me flinch. I didn’t realize how close I was to crying. I took a few deep breaths to regain my equilibrium and suppress the urge to collapse into a chasm of despair and self-pity.

“Langley…” He paused and sucked in a huge breath. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”