Everything for Us (The Bad Boys 3)

Biting back all the snide comments I could make, I clear my throat and continue as if they’re not practically devouring each other in their heads.

“Obviously, I’m wide open, so . . .” I happen to glance over at Marissa and see that she looks more than a little uncomfortable. I’m not sure if it’s because her ex-boyfriend is gushing all over her cousin or if it’s something else. “Unless you have something you need to do today, Marissa. I can tag along and keep an eye on you.”

“You don’t need to do that,” she says graciously. Her expression still appears . . . bothered, though. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do, anyway.”

“What, no work?”

“Everyone but my father thinks I’m still out of town, so I still have a few days off.”

“And do what?”

I’ve never been a fan of idle time.

She shrugs. “Maybe do a little research.”

“On . . .” I prompt.

Marissa clears her throat. For whatever reason, I get the feeling she’s uncomfortable with my questioning. “Criminal law.”

“Ahh,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “So I’m not the only one who wants revenge, then.”

She looks up at me. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Like Cash, I think there’s a way to do it legally and achieve all our goals.”

“All our goals?”

Twin pink spots appear on the apples of her cheeks. “Like it or not, we’re all in this together.”

“Exactly!” Olivia says emphatically. “Which is why we need to stick together.”

“Believe it or not, Nash is actually the brains in the family. He could probably be a huge help with research. Of course, you’d have to explain that to all the people at your father’s law firm.”

“I was thinking of going to the county library. You know, avoid . . . everybody.”

Oh yeah, Marissa’s definitely hiding from something. Or someone. For whatever reason, that intrigues me. She doesn’t seem like the type to run or hide. And, from what little I saw of her with my brother, she always seemed in control, so it surprises me to see her at such a loss. Of course, she did just get kidnapped. And dumped. All in a couple days’ time.

Damn, that’s one shitty week!

“Even better,” Cash says. “They’ll probably think Nash is some kind of criminal working on his case. No offense, man, but you do look kinda rough.”

He cringes and I laugh. “Luckily, I have no desire to please or deceive anyone about who and what I am, so . . .”

Cash sobers at my blatant reminder of the life of lies he’s lived. I know that was a low blow, but my temper is on a short fuse. Has been for about seven years.

After the last couple of days, my mood seems to be even darker than usual. Maybe I just need some tension relief.

I need to get laid.

My eyes and my thoughts go straight to Marissa. I’ll have her before it’s over with. And she’ll be begging me for it before I’m through. I just hope she can keep it physical. She’s been through enough without adding heartbreak to the mix. But then again, that’s not my problem.

Cash is right. You really are an asshole, man.

The problem is, I just can’t seem to find a reason to care.

FOUR

Marissa

I examine my reflection in the mirror for the tenth time, and then I wonder for the tenth time why I care what I look like today. I’m going to the county law library. No big deal. But for the tenth time, only an image goes through my mind in answer.

Nash.

He’s under my skin. I don’t know why. And I don’t know why I’m letting it go on. It’s totally unlike me to let anything get beyond my control. And yet I’m jumping in headfirst with this . . . this . . . attraction, or whatever it is.

I sigh as I take in my long hair, brushed into a shiny, platinum wave; my deep blue eyes, lined with smoky gray shadow; and my pouty lips, glistening with dark pink gloss. To me, I look better than I have in months. Maybe years. I can’t imagine the reason for that. At this point, all I do know is that it feels good, whatever is happening to me. It feels good to focus on Nash, to focus on things that aren’t familiar to me. It feels good to hide away from my life and the people who have filled it for so many years. I almost want to throw away all things old and find the new. That might be the most bizarre thing of all.

To a pragmatist like me, it makes no sense to even consider doing something so rash. But maybe that’s the most appealing thing about it—it’s nothing like the me I’ve always been, the me I used to know. Maybe this is the new me. And maybe I want to embrace her completely and leave the old me behind.

That’s a lot of maybes, but I feel like I don’t have any answers right now. And, in the absence of answers, I’ll take all the maybes I can get. They’re far better than complete oblivion.

Tugging on the hem of my casual black skirt and straightening the neckline of the nearly sheer red blouse I coupled it with, I slip my feet into black heels and head for the living room.

“Ready when you are,” I announce as I come to a stop in front of the small table near the door where my purse always sits.

“Wow,” Nash says from behind me. I turn to find him standing in front of the couch, his arms crossed over his chest as though he’d been waiting somewhat impatiently. “Is this how you dress for a casual day at the library?”

I glance down at the outfit I agonized over. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

He walks slowly toward me. For some reason, the mental image of a lion stalking his prey comes to mind, and chills spread down my back.

“Nothing’s ‘wrong’ with it. I’m just wondering how you expect anyone to concentrate.” He stops when he’s within a few inches of me. He’s close enough that I can feel his body heat, but still far enough away that I can breathe somewhat naturally. Part of that might have something to do with the fact that he’s looking me up and down rather than staring into my eyes with that sexy black gaze of his. “I can just make out the shadow of your ni**les through that shirt. The material is like the perfect tease. Makes me want to peel it off you. And that skirt cups your ass the way I’d like to. Makes me wanna dig my fingers into it, then my teeth. And those shoes—they make your legs look like they go on forever.” He drops his voice down to a whisper when he glances back up to my face, to my eyes. “Makes me wanna wrap them around my waist and show you how good I can make you feel.”

Now my breath is coming in short, shallow bursts and my fingers are curled so tightly around my purse strap that my knuckles ache. My mouth is bone-dry and I’m torn between leaning closer to him and standing absolutely still, waiting.

Not by conscious choice, I remain motionless in my anticipation, waiting while a battle rages inside me—the angel on one shoulder, the devil on the other. The question is, which is which?

You’re making a mistake by letting him talk to you like that. Only a whore would put up with that.

No, by taking charge, you’d simply be showing him you’re a woman who knows what she wants. And isn’t afraid to go after it.

Or that you’re a slut, an easy slut who’s fine with being used until the need is satisfied.

And what’s wrong with that? Everyone has needs. Can’t you both get what you want and not quibble over the details?

Show some self-respect!

Show some fire!

Back and forth, the opposing viewpoints duel. It keeps me occupied until the moment passes and there’s no longer a choice to make.

“You want to give in to it, but propriety says that’s not what a lady does, right?” He doesn’t give me time to answer. “How ’bout this? I’ll give you time to feel comfortable with enjoying what I do to you. Just don’t make me wait too long.”

With that, Nash leans in close, reaching to the table behind me to grab my car keys. My breath lodges in my throat when his lips stop within an inch of mine. Up close, his eyes seem even darker than his brother’s. They’re so dark, in fact, I can’t even see where the iris stops and the pupil begins. They’re black. They’re fathomless. They’re consuming. It would be all too easy to get lost in them. Forget everything and everyone else. The lure to do exactly that is extremely compelling.

“Let’s go,” he says quietly, meaningfully, just before he leans away to open the door and hold it for me.

I can’t help but notice that my first few steps forward are on legs that feel like rubber.

* * *

I’m more than a little surprised by how relaxed I feel when Nash guides my car into a spot outside the courthouse, inside which is the Fulton County Law Library. The ride over has been as revelatory as it was stimulating. Nash is sharp. Very sharp.

I guess it was erroneous on my part to expect him to be . . . less than his brother, intellectually speaking. At this point, I think I would go so far as to say that Nash is the smarter of the two, which says a lot because I always found Cash to be brilliant. And so did my father, which was why it was a no-brainer for him to hire Cash (then Nash) on at the firm.

While Nash was away, he stayed on top of pretty much everything that went on in the civilized world, especially the South and Atlanta in particular. I’m sure that was easiest since he was watching Cash. And me.

I shiver.

The thought of him watching me from a distance, without my knowledge, gives me a little thrill. Even though he wasn’t watching me in a perverted kind of way, it’s still somewhat intrusive. But a part of me doesn’t mind him intruding on my privacy. In fact, on some level, I crave it. I crave everything he represents. He feels like rebellion. And freedom. Like a salvation of sorts. I just didn’t know until recently that I needed saving.

As I suspected, the parking lot outside the library entrance is devoid of any cars that I recognize. Our firm practices the type of corporate law that seldom requires trips to the local courthouse. On top of that, none of my coworkers would have a need to visit the county law library when there is an extensively stocked one in our office downtown. Unless, of course, they are like me—hiding.

Nash and I walk in silence to an empty table among the stacks and stacks of books. I’ve been here only a handful of times, and even then, I was never concentrating on criminal law, so my expertise in this area is virtually nil. But that’s what I’m here to change.

I set down my things at the table and start digging back through my law school days for helpful memories like precedents and effective ways to construct a criminal case. The wheels spin, but for the most part, they’re ineffective. I’m just not well versed in this kind of thing.

“Maybe we should at least look into racketeering, since that’s what Cash has worked so long on proving. Maybe there’s a way we can still make a case,” Nash offers.

Yes, anyone would be a fool to underestimate Nash simply because he looks like a felon. There’s an incredibly sharp, observant mind behind his attractively unkempt façade. It’s an intoxicating combination.

“I guess that’s as good a place to start as any.”

He smiles down at me. It’s a genuine smile, one I don’t think I’ve seen him wear. He looks more boyish and less harmful with it in place. It’s very deceptive, as I know he’s neither.

“I figured you might need a place to dig in. This isn’t exactly your specialty, right?”

I laugh uneasily as I return his smile. I feel a bit off-kilter from his ability to continually surprise me with his perceptiveness. “No, not exactly.”

“Let’s get on with this, then.”

His eyes are sparkling when they meet mine. Not only do I think he means much more than just the research, but now I can add “charming” to his list of deadly attributes.

FIVE

Nash

I bring back the first armload of books and set them on our table. A couple of them contain direct references to the Gambino crime family case. Marissa thinks it will be most helpful, as it details the successful prosecution and imprisonment of a crime family based on the RICO (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations) Act.

I don’t mind researching case law to keep myself busy for a while, but it’s not nearly the distraction Marissa will be. Pursuing her will give me something to focus my . . . intensity on until all of this mess is settled. She’s just the sort of release I need.

I could take care of things my own way, Cash be damned. But despite the lingering resentment over him taking over my identity, I still care about him. He’s my twin, for God’s sake. And I know he was misled, that Dad didn’t tell him I was alive. In his way, Dad was trying to protect us both. And I guess we both did the best we could in a bad situation.

It’s still hard to sit back and wait rather than act, though. That’s why Marissa’s presence is so timely. I’ll have something to do in the meantime. She’ll be a challenge. She’s used to a certain kind of man, a man that’s nothing like me, so she’s in unfamiliar territory. And I’m just as**ole enough to take full advantage of that before she changes her mind and runs back to the life she had before she met the Davenports.

When I find Marissa within the stacks again, she’s four aisles over, at the back of the room. She’s holding three more books in her arms. But she’s not alone.

An impeccably dressed blond guy has cornered her. He’s nearly as tall as me, just not as muscular. He’s dressed in a dark blue suit. It’s custom cut, I’m sure. He’s smiling down at Marissa. And she’s smiling back.