The Note by Natalie Wrye (urban books to read .TXT) 📗

in these past few days, and I’ve struggled in some ways to get that piece of myself back.

Not that the piece was really whole to being with.

Jase wasn’t all the way wrong.

My way with women hasn’t always been the best. Especially after Ainsley.

But I can’t think about her—or any other woman—right now.

Because right now, all my attention is on the woman who just stepped onto the small stage, in a fire-red dress.

“Congratulations on your beautiful prize,” the gallery owner gushes, escorting me to the side, the elder man shaking my outstretched hand. He pumps it once.

“Thanks.” I grin. “It took a long time to find her.”

And just as the words leave my lips, here she comes.

The real “beautiful prize” up for bid.

Sophia Somerset looks just how I remember her. Even better.

The shock in her pretty hazel eyes makes them go wide, and it is all I can do not to smile in her face, not to gloat at the thought that she can no longer hide from me.

Not anymore.

The urge to take vengeance—to make her kneel and beg and grovel—takes hold of me, but I push it down deep in my gut. There will be time for all of that once I get her finally alone.

I’ll make sure of it.

But first things first.

I extend my hand. “Nice to see you again, Sophia.” I know she will ignore it. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

A photographer passes us, begging for a pose, and Sophia still does nothing but stare at me, her red painted lips just as rosy as her blushing cheeks. She finally glances at the photog.

“A picture for the paper?” He asks.

I answer instead. “We’d love to.”

I grab her close before she can say no. Before she can turn away from me the way she wants to. The way she turned and took off two days ago from beneath my sheets.

But my move, like so many others, is a mistake. I know it the moment our bodies meet.

The second my skin touches hers, it’s like a match is lit. Heat flares under my collar and into my fingers. Sinking my hand against her side, the smell of her lilac perfume hits the tip of my nose, slamming me square in the gut, and like a tidal wave, the memories of the two of us are back…and in vivid color.

The memories of our night—brief and unforgettable—are jagged pieces of my mind that I wish would disappear.

Pieces I’d pay not to have. Pieces that dance in front of my mind’s eye to remind me of how broken I’d been the night I met her, that remind me of how dangerous this woman was, how unknowingly seductive.

The flash from the photo’s camera goes off, and I get my hand off her quick enough. Releasing the beautiful brunette under my arm, the dull heat practically wafting off my flushed skin as I stare at her once again. Still silent, she only blinks, and I cross my arms as I wait for her to speak, hearing nothing.

“Cat got your tongue, Miss Somerset? You weren’t so quiet the first time we, uh, ‘met’.”

At last she opens her mouth. “That was a rare night for me. And a different set of circumstances.”

“And I’m assuming you were a different Sophia?” I take a step closer. “Because this one? The one standing in front of me? She looks just the same.” I inch even nearer, letting her feel my presence. I lower my voice. “She looks just like a little liar I once met. Same dark hair. Same skin.” I watch as she closes her eyes. “Only this Sophia? She doesn’t have the other plan. Doesn’t feel good being caught unaware? Doesn’t feel nice, being surprised now, does it?”

I almost touch her. We’re standing so close that I could.

I’m enjoying playing with her a bit. Playing a little cloak-and-dagger.

Truth is… I just want the watch.

Because the sooner I can make a claim on my father’s fortune, the sooner I can hand the proper reins back to my brothers and get out of this goddamned cesspool they call New York.

Most likely, for good.

But hell, that’s easier said than done when it comes to the “one-night nothing” who made the mistake of stealing my watch.

I can’t help needling her. Can’t help toying.

Can’t help watching Little Miss Stolen Goods squirm in a fitted red dress thin enough for me to notice every curve, her shoulders small beneath the slender red straps, her tiny nipples at attention beneath the silk at her breast as I murmur near her reddened ear, nearly forgetting where I am.

Until another woman steps close, and I instantly stop.

A redhead huffs, stomping forward, her lavender dress pale against her lightly freckled skin. She looks directly at Sophia with a sigh.

“Soph, have you seen Andrew?”

My little thief finally opens her eyes. “Drew?” Her gaze goes wide. “Why?” She moves closer to our sudden intruder. “Haven’t you guys verbally mauled each other enough for one night?”

“Guess I’m a glutton for punishment. I thought Mr. Mouthy Mike Tyson might give me a ride. My car won’t start. It’s started raining.” She motions outside to the now wet window. “And there are so many ride-shares out there tonight the area is swamped.” She heaves a deep breath, exhaling hard. “I’ve got a red-eye to catch tonight to head to the Chicago Alchemist.” She hesitates. “The hell am I going to do now? I’m royally screwed.”

“I’d give you a lift,” Sophia interjects, “but I don’t have a car. I took a cab. Maybe we could work something out. Share a taxi or…?”

My opportunity to be alone with Sophia is slipping through my fingers. And just when I found her.

That “root rat” I’d been, the beast version of myself I’m trying to leave back in Australia, would rather throw her over my shoulder and be done with it. Haul her notoriously taut ass in my arms and lock her in my office until she confesses everything, gives everything, tells everything.

But I’m trying to leave that version alone.