Get You Back: Part One: Revenge Read online

The news footage had been taped earlier. I had no idea where Lauren was now. I fired off a text to her, but got no response. After an impatient couple of minutes, I called Levi at the TV station.

  "Clayton campaign events?" I heard the click of a keyboard as Levi performed his search. "There's a private reception for donors at the Redwood Club."

  "I don't suppose blood donors count."

  "You suppose correctly. This one is strictly invitation only."

  "Press pass?"

  "Case of Dom Pérignon?"

  "You got it."

  "It'll be at the door. Don't make a scene or you'll owe me two cases."

  "I'm not the scene-making type."

  Levi's skeptical snort had me smiling as I ended the call.

  As I was shrugging into my leather blazer—the closest thing I could come to a reporter-type outfit—Doug Berkowitz called me.

  "Where did you stumble across these two winners?"

  My hackles rose. I could sling insults at Bliss and Lauren, but I didn't want anyone else to. "Save the drama. What did you find?"

  "A pair of scammers. Whatever you do, don't propose marriage to either one of them."

  "You mean Bliss, right? She married my father and that didn't go well."

  "Ah. I'm seeing the bottom line here. Actually, I was talking about the younger one. Lauren. She has an interesting habit of getting engaged but never going through with it."

  "Habit?" I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass door that opened onto the patio. I looked like a cowboy, not a Washington reporter. They'd laugh me right out of that reception. I'd better go buy a tux.

  "This isn't confirmable, got it? It's me putting the pieces together."

  "I'm not going to court with it. It's for my own personal information."

  "Okey-dokey, then from what I can tell, it looks like Lauren, the younger one, using a variety of last names, has been linked with a series of powerful men over the past six years. She was temporarily engaged five times. None of those relationships lasted longer than three months. She's a hit-and-run operator."

  I froze in the middle of my hotel room. "What does it mean? Five engagements? Why?"

  "My guess? She worms her way into these men's lives, then with the help of her mother—that one's a real piece of work—she digs up some secret they're trying to keep. Then uses that to leverage a nice payout on her way out the door. Not confirmable, let me repeat."

  "But plausible?"

  "Probable."

  Something strange was happening to my hearing. My ears rang and Doug's voice might as well have been coming from inside a cave. I barely heard the last thing he said. "I'm still waiting on some follow-up," he was saying as I clicked off the call. I slipped my phone into the inner pocket of my jacket. I'd heard enough.

  I'd fallen for Lauren's act just like those other "powerful" men. No wonder she didn't want anything to disrupt her engagement. Because she was still hard at work getting the goods on Brian Clayton. She'd do anything to protect her investment.

  Or maybe she was lining me up to be the next victim. Between the Colonial and the Maserati, she probably figured I had money. I had secrets too. In fact, I'd already told her some of them. Texas … ranch … Annabelle … my blood ran cold.

  12

  Lauren

  Orgasms made everything better. Even mind-numbing receptions at the Redwood Club passed much more quickly when memories of my time with Rye kept surfacing.

  I'd paid for my pleasure. Brian had been giving me the cold shoulder, which was very unlike him. And my mother … well, she was furious. She showed it in her usual way as soon as I got home after the luncheon. Even though I'd warned her several years ago to stop getting physical, she still slipped occasionally.

  I was counting the hours until Election Day, until she handed me the keys to the safe deposit box where she kept that videotape. Without that, I'd never be free of her.

  "If you do one more thing to jeopardize this job, you can forget about our deal," she said, after insisting I join her for her evening speed-walk. "If you don't keep up your end, it's off."

  "Bliss, it was one missed appearance. Ram told the press I had a family emergency. No one noticed or minded. Some people have better things to think about than some '"teacher's aide'" about to marry an investment banker."

  "You're taking this too lightly. The press is calling you 'America's Kate Middleton.' People are watching. Do you think Kate would miss one of William's lunches?"

  "Bliss, do you hear yourself?" I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was lurking behind us and eavesdropping. "We don't need national press attention. This is getting out of hand. What if someone gets curious and starts digging?"

  She waved that off as she rolled her hips in that weird speed-walk way. "We're perfectly safe. I covered our tracks. Just trust me, sweetie. Trust me to know what's best. Haven't I always had your back? I'm looking out for you."

  I laughed bitterly. "That's one way to put it."

  "You have no idea where you'd be if I hadn't taken you in," she said sharply.

  "That’s because you won't tell me." I felt my usual hot anger at any mention of the mystery of my parentage. The only comfort was that Bliss wasn’t my blood. I didn’t believe her insinuations about my origins. Secretly I was convinced that my real parents were sweet, ordinary, caring people. Nothing like Bliss.

  "IWhen I do tell you, you’ll be grateful I was the one who raised you. You’d be better off staying with me, darling. We could just forget about this silly deal and keep on as we are. I’ll even up your share.”

  “Like hell.”

  I shook off the nasty memory of that scene with Bliss. I needed to focus on where I was. On the Redwood Club. Senator Clayton. Brian. Ram. Those were the people who mattered right now. I fixed a smile on my face as I chatted lightly with Senator Clayton. I knew he was a fan of mine.

  "You look lovely tonight, my dear." He swished the ice cubes in his glass of club soda.

  "Thank you. I'm so sorry about the luncheon."

  He waved it off. "Please don't waste a minute worrying about that. I'm sure you did your best to be there."

  "There's no excuse, but …" I trailed off. There was no excuse that I could verbalize without blushing. "It won't happen again, I promise."

  He put up his hand, indicating "'enough said."'

  "Consider the subject closed. I'm very pleased, overall. There's the Secretary, I must go speak to him. Mingle, my girl. Mingle."

  Ugh, mingling. Why did my job have to include mingling? No activity could be more torturous than to fake a smile while wading through a shark-infested bar. I was about to launch myself toward a group that included two congressmen when I felt a warm breath against my ear. A shock of pleasure vibrated through me.

  "It won't happen again?"

  That deep voice reached right into my core and lit a slow burn.

  Thanks to Bliss's training, I managed to keep my cool. I didn't even look around at the person who had snuck up behind me. I didn't have to. "What are you doing here, Rye?"

  "Mingling."

  I shifted from one Jimmy Choo-clad foot to the other. "Then don't let me stop you."

  "You couldn't if you tried. If you don't want me to make an embarrassing scene, meet me in the ladies' powder room in two minutes."

  "I can't." But even as I objected, I felt a compulsive tug toward the hard body at my back. I wanted to lean my head against him. Feel his hands come around my breasts. Relax against his solid warmth.

  This was crazy. Bad, dangerous and crazy.

  "You will. Unless you're willing to take things public after all."

  I caught a look from a freshman senator from Virginia. "Just go," I said without moving my mouth.

  I knew when he left because my body suddenly felt bereft.

  I waited for a count of sixty, surreptitiously checked to make sure no one was focused on me, and slipped out of the crowded room.

  Out in the hallway that led to a series of p
rivate meeting rooms and restrooms, I paused in a little alcove, squeezing next to a potted lemon tree. I wanted to see if anyone had noticed my departure and pursued me.

  When I was a hundred percent sure the coast was clear, I sauntered toward the ladies' room. Just an average girl who needed to powder her nose.

  Or meet her avenging angel/lover.

  Rye lounged in a little gilt chair in the corner, the one usually occupied by the attendant. He wore a black double-breasted tuxedo jacket over a blinding white shirt. No tie of any kind. The effect of that suit on his big, rangy body was pretty much spectacular. With his relaxed posture, one ankle casually crossed over the opposite knee, you'd never guess he was furious.

  But one look at those stormy silver eyes and I knew.

  "If you're upset about what I said to the senator, don't worry about that," I told him. "It means nothing."

  "Does anything you say mean anything?"

  I stiffened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "You don't intend to marry Brian Clayton, do you?"

  I pressed my lips together. I wasn't going to fall for his goading. I couldn't afford to give him any more information that he already had.

  "No denials? No explanations? No violins playing along?"

  "What are you here for, Rye? Are you unhappy with our deal?"

  His pupils expanded, turning those silvery pools a bleak gray. "I'm here for a tiny bit of truth. I know it's a lot to ask, and I'm not going to get too crazy and ask for the entire truth. Just a …" He kissed his fingers with continental flair. Amazing that such a rugged guy could pull that off. "Tiny bit."

  "Our arrangement never mentioned anything about telling the truth. It was never about baring our souls. Just baring our bodies."

  "And yet here you are, entirely clothed."

  "You want me naked?"

  Movement in the area of his groin answered that for me. "Damn it, Lauren. I'm trying not to lose my shit here." His jaw ticked and he leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Tell me something. What do you think my financial situation is?"

  I drew back with a frown. "I never thought about it, beyond what you told me. You worked on a ranch, you won some money in Vegas. But probably not much," I scanned him up and down, "based on your rental tux."

  Maybe that was a bit rude, but I felt like needling him right back.

  He stared at me for a long moment, raking me up and down with those penetrating silver eyes. I didn't know what he was looking for. But I know how it made me feel.

  Itchy. Aroused.

  Tension built between us, a sweet, drugging anticipation better than any high.

  "Let's try something, Lauren," he finally said in a low, gravelly voice that told me he was aching for me as much as I was for him. "I'll ask you some questions. You either answer the question truthfully or … you take off a piece of clothing."

  My throat clogged with a mixture of excitement and fear. "We can't, Rye. Anyone could come in here at any moment." Anyone included about a hundred people who could destroy all my hard work.

  "I paid the attendant very well to make sure they don't."

  I measured his resolve. Steely eyes, grim jaw. Rock- solid, relentless Rye.

  In that moment, I clicked on the biggest difference between the Rye I'd known in Chicago and this powerful man. Sixteen-year- old Rye had a restless spirit that used to fill the house with turbulence and activity. Grown-up Rye had taken all that wild energy and channeled it in one direction. Survival.

  And now—me.

  It took every molecule of willpower I had to stand tall under his scorching stare. He was both overwhelming and intoxicating. The powder room seemed to close in around me.

  "Fine.," I agreed. "But I don't know what you want to accomplish. I haven't deceived you. I've been truthful. About everything that matters," I added.

  "I guess we'll find out. First question." He took a long moment, as if sorting through all the things he wanted to ask. Then he leaned forward, reached for my hand and pushed up the sleeve of my jacket. "Who put those bruises on your wrist?"

  I flinched in shock. Of all the things he could have asked, I'd never anticipated that question. How did he even know? "You can't even see them," I blurted. "That's why I wore this suit."

  "I saw you on the news. You winced when Brian took your hand."

  A melting sensation spread through me like chocolate. No one had ever paid such close attention to me. Granted, Rye was doing it for his own reasons. But it still made my walls crumble.

  "Was it Bliss?"

  I wanted to answer. I wanted to tell him, or maybe tell anyone. But I couldn't. He wouldn't understand the situation. He might confront her. When Bliss felt cornered, she got unpredictable. For his own sake, I couldn't let him interfere.

  Instead of answering, I slid the jacket off my shoulders and tossed it on the marble countertop next to the sink. I realized that, thanks to the mirror mounted on that wall, Rye was getting both a front and a back view of me. Maybe it was vain of me, but I gave a prayer of thanks that the lighting was designed to flatter.

  "Really?" Rye frowned. "You can't even give me that one?"

  "This is your game. You made the rules. Live with it. Next?"

  "Are you in love with Brian Clayton?"

  I thought hard. Could I answer that one safely? No. I unzipped the flared skirt of my bronze Anna Sui summer suit and stepped out of it. I still wore a slip and a thin silk shell, not to mention underwear. I wasn't too worried. There had to be a question I could answer soon.

  "I'll take that as a no," Rye said with a crooked smile. "Is Brian Clayton in love with you?"

  Based on the last question, if I didn't answer, he'd assume that was a "'no."' Which, of course, it was. So I allowed myself to answer this one. "No. Brian Clayton is not in love with me."

  Surprise flashed across Rye's face. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and ran his hands under my slip. "You didn't seduce him into proposing to you?"

  "Excuse me? Is that a question? Or just an insult?" Despite my indignation, my body responded to the warm clasp of his hands on the backs of my thighs. Shivers travelled up to my core.

  "I withdraw it. Next question."

  "You can't withdraw it. You already asked it and I essentially answered it. It counts."

  "Are we keeping score?"

  "Of course we're keeping score."

  He raised one eyebrow. "You always were a competitive little thing. Not that it did you much good. I always came out on top."

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "Next question."

  "Have you been engaged to anyone else?"

  Pass. I unbuttoned my blouse. I flung it on top of my other clothes and planted my hands on my hips.

  "No answer." He shook his head, eyes going hard. "That shouldn't be a tough question."

  I stared at him stubbornly, refusing to say one more word.

  "Okay, we'll move on then. Have you ever committed fraud?"

  Bastard. I couldn't answer that. My entire life was a fraud. But "committing fraud"? Probably not. Maybe not. Although the evidence in that safe deposit box might be pretty damning. Giving up on that one, I slid my panties off under my slip and dangled them from one finger. The middle one.

  "Should I take that as a yes?"

  "You can take that as a 'screw you, you've already seen me naked so why should I answer your ridiculous questions?'"

  "You're not naked yet. I like the view I'm getting right now. That slip really shows off your nipples. You should see them rising up like little mountain peaks." He paused, possibly to allow me the opportunity to gaze at myself in the mirror. Pass. "Maybe I'll throw you a softball question. Keep you in your lingerie a little longer."

  As his narrowed gaze traveled down my body, I felt each part turn almost feverish. I squeezed my legs together to keep the moisture from betraying me.

  "Okay, easy one. Did you ever cheat at Spades?"

  I laughed in surprise. For about a month during Rye's summer break, the four of u
s had played non-stop rounds of Spades. I won. A lot. "Have you been wondering about that all these years?"

  A smile quivered at the edge of his beautiful mouth. "I definitely wondered at the time. We all did."

  "Well, I didn't cheat. Not really."

  "Not really?"

  "I have a friend from childhood who taught me a few things."

  He ran his hands up my bare ass and cupped my cheeks. "You have interesting friends."

  "That's for sure."

  "You fascinate me, Lauren Blakewell Gallatin."

  I couldn't answer because his fingers were straying disturbingly close to my pulsating clit.

  He gathered the material of my slip into one hand so it strained against my groin. I looked down and saw the erotically dark shadow of my curls through the slip. He leaned closer and aimed his hot breath there. "Next question. How many names am I missing?"

  Oh no. Not a chance. I resigned myself to full nudity. I reached for the hem of my slip and tugged it out of his grasp. Slowly, seductively, I slid it up my body, unveiling myself inch by inch. When I tossed it over my shoulder, I was naked except for my Jimmy Choos.

  "Interesting." Rye sat back and surveyed me with a thoughtful expression. "All this stripping and you haven't once checked the mirror. Why?"

  "Is that a question? Because I don't have any clothes left."

  "Then you'd better answer it truthfully."

  "I don't care for mirrors."

  "Why? You're beautiful. Perfect." He smoothed his hand along the curve of my waist.

  Was this question dangerous? I couldn't tell anymore. I was tired of being on guard all the time. And the tender way he was stroking me took down all my defenses.

  "I was … I was made to spend many, many hours in front of a mirror. Not to admire myself, as you seem to think. I had all my flaws pointed out to me. In painful detail. That's where I was taught how to manipulate others' perception of me. Mirrors were like a classroom. I dreaded the time I spent looking at my reflection. I only do it now when I have to. To fix my hair or see if there's spinach in my teeth. If I ever have my own place, I'll throw out all the mirrors."

  When I stopped talking, I was shocked to realize that my voice had risen and my chest was heaving. It had turned into quite the passionate speech. And it was all true. I didn't just dislike mirrors. I hated the damn things.