Roni Loren - Caught Up In You

She watched the distaste cross Wyatt’s face, and her heart died a little. One of the things she loved most about her brief times with Wyatt was how he looked at her like she really was the sweet, innocent thing he believed her to be. Like she was something precious and fragile. Unlike everyone else she knew, he hadn’t looked at her through the filter of her past and all the mistakes she’d made when she was using. Or through the even darker glass of being a victim. Only a handful of people knew what she’d endured at the hands of her mother’s murderer last year. But once someone knew, that was all the person saw—assault victim. Now streaks of that ugliness were tainting the bright little bubble of space between her and Wyatt.

“Where are you going to go?” he asked, shutting the front door behind him and bolting it. “My company has corporate apartments we rent. You can stay in one of those if you need a place.”

She shook her head. The last thing she wanted was some handout. “Thanks, I appreciate it, but I can stay at my sister and her fiancé’s place.”

That was a lie. She wasn’t going to put Brynn and Reid at risk on her behalf. Not again. Reid had taken a bullet the last time he’d rescued Kelsey, and her sister had almost ended up dead. But Kelsey couldn’t tell Wyatt where she was really heading. He’d already found out enough of her secrets today. The last thing he needed to know was what she did as her night job.

Wyatt frowned, obviously not thrilled with that plan, but he nodded. “Pack your bag, and I’ll drive you.”

“I have a car downstairs. I just take the bus some days to work to save money on gas.”

“Then I’ll follow you there to make sure you’re safe.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but what was the point? In truth, having someone watch her back as she left the apartment wasn’t a bad thing. The D-Towners were probably just trying to scare her, but she also knew they were capable of a lot worse than that, so she wasn’t going to take any chances. “Thanks. Guess you probably shouldn’t have stuck around for that muffin today. You’d be tucked safely in your office by now none the wiser, making people their millions.”

He shook his head. “Best decision I’ve made in a long time. The millions will still be there tomorrow.”

And now, because of him, she would still be around, too. “Thank you, Wyatt. Really. I’m so—”

He held up a hand. “If you apologize one more time for something that is absolutely not your fault, you’re going to see my mean side.”

The threat shouldn’t have sent a hot shiver through her, but it did. The image of the quietly intense executive losing some of that nothing-phases-me exterior called to her in a way she couldn’t even define. The feeling was foreign, frightening. The fact that he’d shut down the possibility of them sleeping together was probably a very, very good thing, even if her hormones hadn’t quite jumped on board with that plan yet. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“I’ll be here.” Wyatt sat down on her loveseat, pulled out his cell phone, and started scanning through emails as if he’d wait forever if that was how long she needed.

She stood there watching him for a few moments longer than necessary, knowing that this would probably be the last time she’d have him this close. Sure, she’d be able to hide out for a few weeks, but this wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. She’d thought she’d escaped undetected the last time, but clearly they’d discovered the role she’d played in Raymond Miller’s downfall. And if D-Town was determined to hurt her, she wasn’t going to be safe anywhere near their territory.

She let out a long breath and turned her back, heading toward her bedroom. Wyatt didn’t know it, but their fictional love affair was about to come to a quick and quiet end.

Because she was going to have to leave her life here in Dallas.

And leave him.

THREE

Wyatt leaned back in his desk chair, scanning the report on his computer screen and only half-listening to his father prattle on. Wyatt didn’t have the patience for a Bill Austin lecture on a good day, much less this morning. After showing up at the Sugarcane Cafe for the second week in a row to find no Kelsey, Wyatt had left with heartburn and a bloodstream full of frustration.

Her co-worker, Nathan, had been like a fucking Navy SEAL with his ability to withstand interrogation. Wyatt had prodded the guy up one way and down the other trying to get information about Kelsey, even offering to pay Nathan for the information. But all the cook would reveal was that she was safe and that he didn’t know where she was, which was bullshit of course. That kid knew exactly where she was.

He admired the guy for being protective of his friend, but the not knowing was like a thorn burrowing into Wyatt’s brain. The whole situation was out of his control and that was completely unacceptable. He hadn’t been able to concentrate for shit since he’d last seen her. He’d even driven by her sister’s house like some lame stalker to see if her car was there. It wasn’t. And when he’d knocked on the door to the house, no one had been home.

Then this morning he’d come in to find a message from the cop who’d handled the alley incident, letting Wyatt know that the asshole had made bail. Kelsey’s attacker was out there, roaming the streets like nothing had fucking happened. Our brilliant legal system at its best.

“Wyatt, you were supposed to handle this,” his father barked. “You can’t just say no to big-time clients because you feel like it.”

He huffed his annoyance. “I was busy this weekend. And I don’t eat deer, so why would I waste time shooting one?”

His father made that frustrated noise of his, like the hiss of trapped steam leaking out of a pipe. “Wyatt, you—it isn’t about the deer. You know that.”

Wyatt minimized the screen and turned toward his father, bored with this conversation already. He had bigger things to worry about than some self-important client getting his pride hurt over a declined invitation. “I bet the deer would beg to differ.”

His dad’s palm landed on top of the desk, a soft smack but pointed nonetheless. “This isn’t a joke.”

Wyatt closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “Didn’t say it was.”

His father tugged at his necktie and tightened it again, obviously trying to regain his trademark Bill Austin composure. “Dirk Billings wants to trust the guy handling his fortune. He wants to feel connected to him. Like buddies.”

“And sitting for hours in a wooden box with guns and cheap beer to shoot something I don’t even eat is going to accomplish this?” Wyatt shook his head and straightened the papers on his desk. “If he wants trust, he needs to look at my record and talk to my other clients. If he wants to feel connected, I’m more than happy to schedule regular phone calls or meetings to go over his portfolio. I spent last weekend analyzing the numbers from last quarter. We have some quirks in there that don’t make sense. That’s what I needed to spend my time on. Not hanging out in the woods doing tick checks with a windbag.”

The thought of being caught in a deer stand, making chitchat with a guy who thought the South should’ve won, was Wyatt’s personal version of hell. He’d end up turning the gun on his client instead of the wildlife. That wouldn’t be good for the company image.

His father’s skin went ruddy, his hold on his anger obviously dwindling. “Ignoring this part of the business is not going to work anymore, son. Merrill and Mead are giving that level of personal service to their clients. They’re stealing them away from us with good ol’ boy wining and dining. Or golfing and hunting as the case may be. Those imbeciles don’t have anything on you when it comes to the financials, but if you don’t learn how to play the nicey-nice game, we’re going to keep losing big fish. You want that jerk you graduated with to woo away all of our clients?”