“Explain what?”
“You’re his heir. One of them, at least.”
At that moment, a leaky pipe released a drop that went ker-plunk into a ragged bucket on the floor.
“How can I be an heir to a guy I don’t even know?” His words were about the dead billionaire, but she knew he was just trying to engage her. Make her stay.
She looked around. She had to get out of there. “Read the papers. If you have any questions, my office number is on the letterhead.” Turning to go, she felt his gaze on her, like a touch.
“Suzanne.” His voice was low and filled with ten years of yearning. “Please.”
Please.
Of all the words she’d imagined Gerald saying to her when they finally saw each other again, that was the last one she’d ever expected to hear.
If she pivoted and caught his eye, she’d cry. Or scream. Or worse—stand there pleading with him to take her back, to undo ten years of heartache, to atone for the unspeakable pain of being unceremoniously dumped and left brokenhearted, shattered into a thousand pieces before she was stateside, left to unpack her meager civilian belongings in her parents’ house in Minnesota and try not to talk about anything but her future.
Frozen, she stood a few feet from the doorway, the weight of her brief bag pulling on her shoulder, anchoring her in place. If he touched her again, she’d melt.
If he touched her again, she’d explode.
If she just stood there, letting her pulse pound through her like a helicopter blade whipping through too much thick wind, she would never move.
Slowly, with painstaking intent, she did swivel, her heels nearly choreographed for a dance she couldn’t avoid. Meeting his eyes, she let herself feel all the emotions at once, uncensored, but only for a few seconds.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just met her look head-on, the power of seconds ticking by without reprieve from each other’s look growing.
“Please what?”
“Please stay after class and talk with me.”
“I can’t,” she announced in a firm voice. “I have a date.”
Anger could do the most extraordinary things to eyes. She watched it fill his irises, clouds of ozone and shock stuffed into two orbs that looked at her through a furrowed brow.
“You know where to find me,” she said, nudging her nose toward the thick packet in his hand. She made a huffing laugh. “Then again, you always have.”
And with that, she took one very obvious gander at nude Declan McCormick, gave him a smile and a thumbs-up, and marched out of Gerald’s class, down the hallway, and into the warm late-summer night.
It was all she could do not to scream.
Chapter 3
Gerald willed his hands not to shake when he took the shot, sending a yellow-striped nine ball into the corner pocket, making him stripes, Declan solids.
“I have to hear this story,” Declan said, watching as Gerald set up for his next shot.
“Ten in the left corner pocket,” Gerald replied. Eyeing the shot, he lined up the cue, discerning the perfect angle, the exact spot on the table edge where he could get the ball’s trajectory in alignment to go where his mind’s eye saw it.
“How do you know Suzanne Dayton?” Declan asked, just as Gerald was taking the shot. He damn near ripped the table cover with a jagged push of surprise.
“How the hell do you know Suzanne?” Gerald growled, a burst of fire pulsing through him, heating his skin as he stopped breathing. If Declan ever dated her...
“Business.”
Gerald inhaled.
“Her firm handles my mother’s family trust. Once a year, we have a lovely two-hour meeting. She’s been at the table for the past seven years. Junior associate at first, now full partner.”
“Huh. Didn’t know.” How long had she been living in Boston? Gerald wondered. He’d forced himself, years ago, not to look her up. Other than knowing she’d gone to law school at University of Michigan, he’d let her go. It had been about eight years since he’d cracked open the door to that Pandora’s box.
“You drove me nearly every time.”
“Shit.”
“I take it you two have a past.”
Something like that.
Stalling, Gerald pointed his cue at Declan, who made a short shot quickly, the ball slamming into the center pocket. Bam bam bam—three balls in rapid-fire succession before Declan missed.
“Loser tells all,” Declan declared.
Gerald grunted, then smiled. “Fine. I lose, I tell you about Suzanne. You lose, you tell me about your honeymoon.”
Declan paled, his five o’clock shadow more pronounced, giving his face the look of a Vogue model. “I promised Shannon I’d never tell.”
“Must have been one hell of a honeymoon.”
Declan scratched the top of his thigh, then shook his head slightly, as if clearing a memory. “Yeah. Different bet, though. Can’t talk about it. Won’t talk about it.”
The two squared off in a staring match, until Gerald relented. “Fine. Same rule applies to Suzanne.” He took his shot.
Missed.
Damn it.
“You pinkie-promised never to discuss whatever happened?”
Gerald looked at Declan’s manicured hands. “Pinkie promise?”
The guy rolled his eyes. “You know Shannon.”
“Suzanne’s not exactly the pinkie promise type.”
“I got that impression. Tough as nails.”
“Tougher. How about loser buys the next round?”
“You’re on. She’s your ex?”