Ruthless Rival

But my thoughts of her groan, her lips, her thighs?

I don't fall for women. I don't count the notches on my bedposts. I don't savor conquests.

I fuck, I fill my needs, I move on.

Why am I picturing Vanessa in my bed?

In one of those sexy sheath dresses, surveying the room with wide eyes and a Simon Pierce, you truly live up to the image I have of you smile.

Studying my book collection and telling me it's too full of dead white men.

Asking why I don't have any pictures.

Looking at me funny, like she can't believe I'm human, when I tell her I took them down after Bash died.

I close my eyes. Try to conjure something else.

Instead, I see her here, on my desk, picking up the paperweight my mentor gave me, asking how much it cost, if the guy could have spent his money elsewhere.

Pulling her dress up her thigh as she crosses her legs.

Whispering, are you always goal-oriented?

Dammit.

I need to get out of here. Go somewhere else, somewhere I won't think of her.

I power down my computer, put my work away, meet Opal at Liam's office.

She looks at me funny. "Are you wearing that? To the park?"

"What else would I wear?" I ask.

"You basically live in your office. Don't tell me you don't keep a change of clothes here." She eyes my suit jacket. "It's eight-five and humid. I know, summer wool, but still…"

Liam practically jumps out of his office. "That's his skin suit. He has to wear it or we'll see his true form."

"Yes, yes, we've heard that one." She rolls her eyes. "Simon is an alien. Blah blah."

"Brutal," he says.

"Get new material if you want new feedback." She turns to him, suddenly disinterested in my wardrobe. "Can Briar come?"

Briar is Liam's assistant turned fiancé. She's perfect for him. Smart, creative, tough. They banter like characters in a screwball comedy (our father only approved of black-and-white movies and theater). The spoiled playboy and the smart-mouthed artist.

Opal adores her.

She's a good influence, ambitious and honest, so I like her too.

"Did you ask her?" he asks.

"Can't you?" she asks.

"If I ask her to come, it's going to sound different."

"Oh my god, Liam! Gross." She holds her hands over her ears. "Not listening. Come on. Let's go."

He mouths what did you say?

She rolls her eyes and turns to me. "Okay. I'm walking to the park with my favorite brother. You can come too, Liam."

"You do realize—"

"Of course I realize." She shoots him the same death glare she shot me. "And I also realize we're running late. So come on." She motions let's go.

They banter all the way to the elevator.

She and Liam have the same mix of charm and skill at pushing people's buttons. But he's ten years older. He's had ten years to practice.

Opal puts up a fight, but she always ends up on defense.

I tune out their teasing as we step onto the street, walk to Battery Park.

It's a hot night, and the Financial District is bustling. Business people heading to meetings. Vendors selling dinner. Tourists staring at skyscrapers.

Then we step onto the green, and I see her.

Vanessa, in black shorts and a loose tank top, stretching next to her sister.

Staring at me with equal parts desire and frustration.

It's not a coincidence.

It's the two of them meddling.

Vanessa is as surprised I am.

But she swallows, shoots me a look at you, in a suit at the park stare, shrugs like she doesn't care I exist.

I know it's bullshit.

But it still tugs at something deep inside me.

Chapter Seven

SIMON

"Do you want to sit on a bench?" Opal adjusts her sketchpad. "Or stand for this? Maybe in front of the water." She motions to the sidewalk, where Vanessa and her sister Lee are standing. The railing behind it. The deep blue of the Hudson.

I raise a brow.

She plays dumb. "The lighting is better on this side. You can hold still, right? It will only take twenty minutes."

I can play dumb too. I nod sure and follow my sister to the railing.

Vanessa ignores me. Bends to stretch her hamstrings. Shows off her lush ass.

Immediately, my thoughts go to the gutter.

Those shorts around her knees, her hands around her ankles, my name falling off her lips as she comes on my cock.

This is not the time.

Or the place.

Or the audience.

I can't react. That's what Liam and Opal want.

They want a reaction.

They want to whisper about my history with Vanessa—the time she backed out of a dare to kiss me, the way she stared when I brought a date to her mom's New Year's party, the look on my face when she announced her acceptance to the Sorbonne.

The time I saw her kissing the lead in the school play.

He was everything I wasn't.

Open, creative, kind.

It lasted a few weeks, like most high school relationships, but I was still jealous.