Cruel Money (Cruel 1)

I raced after her and got there in time to see her slam the bedroom door.

To my bedroom.

I sighed. Well, this was going to be…great. I knew she wasn’t going to like that. Not after her latest moment of fleeing from my presence.

“Natalie…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Trust me, I’m well aware. But that’s my bedroom.”

She was silent on the other side of the door for long enough that I wasn’t sure if she’d heard me. She had clearly just gone into the first room that she found. And I didn’t care if she wanted to stay in there. But I’d figured she’d want to know at least.

The door finally cracked open. She had her arms crossed over her chest. “Where should I sleep?”

“The guest room down the hall, second door on the right. I put your things in there this afternoon.”

“Fine.” She shouldered past me and went down the hallway.

I couldn’t just let it lie. “I think we should talk,” I said as I trailed her.

“No,” she said flatly. “I said what I had to say.”

“Your lips said something entirely different.”

She wrenched open the guest bedroom door. “Just forget it ever happened.”

I grabbed the door before she could slam it in my face. Our eyes met. Fury meeting desire. And then she softened for just a second, and she was back.

“And what if I can’t do that?” I asked.

She dropped her gaze and sighed. “That’s your problem. Not mine.”

She tugged on the door, and I let it go, watching as it closed behind her.

Fuck.

Forget that kiss?

That kiss? Was she out of her mind?

No one was going to forget what had just happened. This wasn’t how I’d thought this night would end up. Not even fucking close.

We’d spent the last three weeks together, alone at the beach house. Bet or no bet, I wanted Natalie. I’d wanted her the first time I saw her in Paris. I’d wanted her that first night in the Hamptons. And every moment I spent with her intrigued me more and more. Her passion for writing, the hours she spent focused on her work, the way she read into my own passion with interest, and not to mention, her love for my ridiculous dog.

I knew that she had hated me after Paris, but I’d thought that we’d gotten past that. It appeared I was wrong. Really fucking wrong.

I couldn’t put my past behind me. Why did I expect her to do the same? No, I needed to face it, it was always going to haunt me. The beast within clawing at my skin to get out and unleash once more. To break free from the cage I’d locked him in so long ago.

I wanted Natalie.

The beast didn’t care how I got her. I did.

One step forward and two giant steps back. Natalie so close and yet so far.

I quieted the part of me that would lie, scheme, and manipulate to get to her. I didn’t have to be that person. I could win her another way.

So, I retreated to the kitchen and poured myself a rather large glass of scotch. I plopped down on the couch and took a good, long sip. Maybe booze would help.

I’d spent the last six years of my life trying to find balance, to attain the good life. The one I’d read about from the greats. The one that I’d studied methodically. I’d fought my own nature and distanced myself from my past life. I’d been on the right path. Then one look at her, one touch from her, and I was throwing it all out the window.

What were ethics and happiness and attaining the highest level of philosophical reasoning when Natalie stood before me, a larger puzzle than them all?

The drive back to the Hamptons had none of the ease or comfort of our drive into the city. Natalie stared down at her phone the entire way, texting away. Totle was passed out in her lap. I tried to carry on a conversation once or twice, but I got sick of one-syllable answers real quick.

I had just turned up the music, drowning out my own thoughts with Mae’s killer lyrics, when her phone rang.

She silenced the volume with a sigh and answered, “Hey, Katherine.”

My ears perked up. Oh, this was going to be good.

“Yeah, I can’t do brunch. I already left.”

We had already left. We, I corrected for her.

“Oh, Lewis told you that Penn was at the beach house, too?” she said softly.

Fuck. Just peachy. I really wanted to hear the other side of this conversation.

“Yeah, he’s here. But we’re both working, so you probably shouldn’t visit.”

Thank god.

“Look, I know I’m some kind of project for you, but I can’t hang out all the time. I have work to do and a book to finish. Maybe another time, okay?”