We stay like this for a couple of torturous minutes. All I can think about is how much I want him to kiss me, to touch me, to take me in his arms and drown out everything and everyone else.
But he doesn’t. Without a word, he steps back, turns slightly to the side, and takes another swig of his beer.
Almost like he didn’t feel a thing.
THIRTEEN
Nash
“So, why have you never asked questions about me and Cash? Why weren’t you surprised, or at least confused, when I drove you to your father’s house after the kidnapping? You can’t tell me you didn’t at least wonder who I was.” I stare out into the night, careful to keep my eyes off her.
I hope Marissa doesn’t think my abrupt change of subject is suspicious. I didn’t want her to keep thinking about the balcony. She’s getting too close. Too close to a memory I don’t want her to find. Too close to something I want to forget. But something I can’t forget.
I force it from my mind, determined not to think on it. I see now that it was a mistake to follow her out here.
I can’t help but be curious what she knows, though. If that’s why I catch her staring at me so often. What will she think of me if she ever puts two and two together?
“I’ll admit it was shocking to see you, but more shocking than confusing because I already knew what was going on.”
I turn my head slightly, just enough to see her. I arch my brow. “And you expect me to believe that? That you just figured it out?”
She frowns. “Oh. No. That’s not how it happened. I found out while I was being held captive. I overheard two men talking.”
“Ahhh,” I say. That makes much more sense. Marissa is astute enough to catch on, but I’m sure Cash limited the amount of time he let anyone who knew him see him as both Cash and Nash. He wouldn’t take a reckless risk like that. It would have been difficult for Marissa to realize the truth—especially when she had no reason to suspect he was playing both brothers. When I think of her answer, though, it still doesn’t make sense. No one should’ve known until after we had possession of Marissa. “Exactly what did they say?”
“Just that one of their plants had called in the night before and said that one of you had been pretending to be both twins, but that the other one—the real one—was back.”
“A ‘plant’?”
She nods again. “That’s what he said. Or at least that’s what it sounded like he said. He had a very thick accent.”
“Russian?”
“Yes, it sounded like it.”
I feel my frown deepen right along with my concern. “And this guy said the plant called in the night before? When was it that you overheard this?”
“Um, the day you brought me home, I think. They kept me bound and gagged and blindfolded almost the entire time, so my sense of time is skewed. When I think back to those hours, I can’t . . . seem . . . to . . .”
A shiver passes through her and she closes her eyes for a second. It’s plain to see she’s still shaken by the whole thing. I’m sure most people in her position would be. She just puts on such a good front that it’s easy to forget she’s been through a traumatic experience. And very recently, too. I guess with everything that’s going on, the movement of time seems, by turns, inordinately fast or inordinately slow.
I suppose all of our lives are in a kind of holding pattern until we get this over and done with, and behind us. And, like it or not, we’re all in this together. These bastards have adversely affected and touched each of our lives.
I think over the timeline. If she’s remembering correctly, that means someone tipped off the Russians on Sunday. Presumably after I arrived in town. That means they have eyes on the club most likely, which doesn’t surprise me. But was it merely someone in the club, a patron? Or was it someone . . . closer? Closer to Cash? Someone on the inside?
He’s been pretty cautious, so I’m inclined to think it was someone watching him and watching his life from the perspective of a clubber.
I growl through my gritted teeth.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Cash is a godda—” I catch myself before I finish the phrase. I guess some parts of the old me never died, like the ingrained urge to watch my language around a lady. “He’s a damned idiot for trusting any of you people.”
“Any of ‘you people,’” she says, clearly taking exception. “I know you can’t possibly mean me.”
“And why the hell not? You might be the worst one of them all.”
“How could you even say that? I’ve done nothing to deserve your distrust.”
I scoff. “Maybe not, but you’ve done nothing to earn my trust, either.”
“So not telling anyone who you really are isn’t enough to rate a little trust?”
“Hell no! It serves your purposes just as much as mine. I can just imagine the kind of social shitstorm you’d stir up if you told anybody about the man you thought was Nash.” My laugh is bitter. “No, don’t act like you’re doing me some big favor. Your motives are selfish, just like the rest of us.”
“You can’t go through life not trusting anyone.”
“Watch me,” I snap.
She looks wounded, no doubt some kind of feminine ploy practiced specifically to manipulate. Well, it won’t work on me. She’s not getting under my skin. I want her; that’s no secret. But that’s the only thing I’m interested in—sex. Nothing more. I even did the right thing and warned her about me. If she chooses to ignore that warning, that’s on her.
“I think this was a mistake,” she says, her voice small in the heavy air.
“Let me give you a valuable tip about people and life. Everybody wants something. Everybody. As soon as you can get that through your head, the better off you’ll be.”
She looks down at her hands as she toys with the stem of her martini glass. “And what is it that you want?”
“Revenge,” I bite out. “Justice.” She nods slowly but doesn’t look back up at me. Again, I think of my goal to have those long, long legs wrapped around me. I should hide it from her. Woo her instead. No doubt it’s what the high-society types expect. But that’s exactly why I won’t do either. I want to shock her. I want her to know that I change for no one. I yield to no one. “And a few hours alone with you.”