The Satin Sash

“Yes.”

When the word sank into his gut, it shot up to his chest to annihilate his heart. It was a massacre. His stomach lurched, and when the impact sliced through each and every one of the walls he was struggling to maintain, the bottom fell out of his world so hard that he had to brace a hand on the window and face the floor. “Thank you, Louisa. That will be all.”

“Would you like me to fix you something?” She made her way around the place, her footsteps an unwelcome, annoying sound that made him realize just how desperate he was to lash out at someone. “I make a killer apple martini,” she said—and the cheery note grated on his nerves.

He heard her putter around the bar area, heard glass tinkling, Louisa asking him something. And then all he could hear was Toni. Sobbing in his arms. Clutching him with all her might, crying for him, for her, for Heath. He’d come apart holding her. Because he was afraid that was the last time he’d have her in his arms. He was afraid he couldn’t be the man she wanted him to be. She was bursting with life and passion, rebellious against the world and its rules, and he had made her stand there and be photographed . . . and he had made her smile . . . smile for all of them . . . and hold his hand while they were breaking in two.

Don’t. Grey, don’t leave me . . .

But he’d left. Even when he adored her, even when he knew—inhis gut, his heart, his every cell—he was adored by her. He had landed the last blow needed to shatter them. He’d tried holding the pieces of them together, but he’d quit. He. He had ripped them apart. He’d left when she needed him. When she was confused and frustrated and still fighting for that stupid, foolish idea of hers. When those incredibly green eyes of hers had been flowing with tears in a way he’d never, ever, seen before.

He’d broken her heart for making him share it with Heath.

Now Heath would take care of her, fix her low tires, live in that annoyingly small place with all her frustrating clutter. And he would get all of her smiles. He would fight with her, make up with her, drink her lousy coffee, and wake up with her.

His throat was clogged to words. His eyes burned as if the brandy simmered inside them. His jaw wouldn’t work as he tried to speak. He struggled with it, forcing himself to form the words,“I said, that will be all, Louisa.”

He didn’t expect her to launch herself at him when he turned. The soft, dry kiss she planted on his lips came as an equal shock to the feel of her breasts pressing into his chest. “I’m here for you, Grey.” She rubbed her hands up and down the plackets of his shirt, breathing fast. “You’re a strong, vigorous, incredible man—”

His ire came so viciously, so fast and potently, the glass flew from his hand and crashed into the wood-paneled wall in a deafening explosion. Glass rained down on the floor. Drops of liquid slithered down the tapestry.The color drained from her face as she stumbled back a step, her hand at her throat.

Grey sucked in a gust of oxygen, striving for control, for patience, for anything but this devastation. He ground out the words: “I said that will be all.”

When she left in a startled, fumbling hurry, the room fell so silent he could hear his own breathing echo within the walls. It was a spiked, shallow sound, like he’d imagined the breath of a monster lurking in a cave would sound. His were even more terrifying.

His hands shook violently at his sides. The muscles of his face trembled. He leaned his forehead on the window and shoved his hands into his pockets and released a low, frustrated noise instead of the savage wail he wanted to let out.

In his mind, he imagined himself storming into their apartment—her apartment—and shaking her, cursing her, having punishing, violent sex with her.

The thought made him feel even more repulsive. More bitter.

For the first time in his life he frankly, wholeheartedly, wished he were dead.

And Grey Richards, with all the wealth he had amassed and a name that would make any foe tremble, stood alone by the window of his penthouse, willing his heart to grow as cold as it was rumored to be.

He’d never thought he’d see the sash again. Or that Louisa Fairchild would deliver it to his hotel room. Or that the red satin strip would be half its normal size.

Heath did not care if it was a millimeter square; holy mother of god, he’d been out of his mind waiting for a sight of red.

He almost knocked Louisa over in his rush to go to her. Toni.

Heath rapped on her apartment door exactly eighteen minutes later.

Toni wore the same sexy, strapless red dress she’d worn the first moment he’d seen her, and all the words of love and devotion he’d practiced fell out of his lips when the door swung open to reveal her.

“Christ.” He swept her into his arms and twirled her around. “Where do you think you’re going with that?”

“I’m going to seduce you,” she said laughingly as he set her down.

“I’m seduced.” He could not keep his hands to himself, so he had them on her butt, the small of her back, then her breasts. His mouth dragged across her face, desperate to go everywhere at once. “I was waiting like a lovesick fool to hear from you. I was half-convinced I should leave the city, and half-convinced I should take you with me.”

“Kidnapping, you mean?” Her lively green gaze shone like emeralds, but there were still lines under her eyes.

“And Grey?” he asked, sobering.

Her smile faltered, but then appeared once again as she guided him into the living room. “He’ll be here,” she said, shooting him a sidelong glance. “I cooked for you two.”

He grinned. Nobody had cooked for him before. “Ahh, kitten, you don’t have to go through that trouble to please me.” But shit, he was more than pleased. He would be pleased if she just sat there and stared at him; he was so crazy about her.