Page 113 of Resist

“I’ve replayed that night a thousand times while listening to your cell ring and then push me to voice mail. I didn’t say things the right way . . .”

“Neither of us did.”

“You walked in when Roxanne was paying me one of her I’m-drunk-and-I-miss-you visits—her typical lobby ambush of me. I swear to you nothing was going on—”

“You weren’t exactly convincing.”

“The last time I saw you was when I watched you while you slept in my bed. The last time we’d talked you’d told me what was between us was strictly business. I was still pissed at you for that, and then to have you walk in while I was dealing with Roxanne . . . I didn’t say what I needed to say.”

“What did you need to say?”

“That I paid you the money so the debt was settled between us. You fulfilled your end of the contract, and I wanted to follow through on mine.”

“But—”

“No, let me finish,” he demands. “I let you run away with the conversation before—this time you’ll let me finish.” When I don’t respond, he continues. “What I wanted to say was that I wanted all scores settled so that whatever happened from here on out between you and me, we’d both know there were no ulterior motives. We’d both know it was because we wanted something to happen, not because I threatened you so that you’d be forced to be with me.”

And now I want to melt into the biggest puddle on the floor as his words awaken again those feelings I told myself weren’t true. The ones that aren’t possible . . . because how can you think you’re in love with someone when you’ve never experienced it before and everything between us seems to be in a constant state of turmoil?

“Vaughn, are you there?”

“Yes. Yeah. Yes.” I laugh.

“I missed you.” There is so much emotion packed in those three words when he says them that this time tears spring to my eyes, and it’s for all the right reasons.

“I missed you too.” The words are hard to get out simply because every other emotion possible is clouding the way.

“Should I assume you got my message from Lola?”

“Loud and clear.” I smile for what feels like the first time in forever.

“When can I see you again?”

Now. As soon as possible. Where are you? I’m coming . . .

“When are you free?”

“My driver is currently en route to your house . . .” His chuckle rumbles through the line. “Is that soon enough?”

“I’d like that,” I murmur, thinking how spot on Ahmed was about how men don’t always say things the right way. “Sunsets.”

“What?” he asks with a laugh.

“Just that I believe in sunsets.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Vaughn

My mad dash over the next forty minutes—the one where I pick up the house, change the sheets on my bed, take a quick shower while I silently freak out that Ryker is coming to my house, which is a crackerbox compared to his extravagant penthouse—is chaotic to say the least. Then, after a few moments of stupid doubt, I proceed to fix my makeup so that it doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard but still care enough about him to try, spritz body spray in every crack and crevice on my body in the hope that he will explore them, and then pace around nervously because I’m so damn excited to get to see him again.

Every time a car drives by, I rush to the window like an anxious little kid only to be let down. So when there’s a knock on the door, I jolt up from the couch, surprised and suddenly anxious.

But that anxiety fades the minute I pull open the door and see him. He looks good—tired, but so damn good. The lines at the sides of his eyes crinkle when his lips turn up into a smile.

We don’t speak. I don’t invite him in. Instead we just stand there—him on the porch and me in the doorway—and drink each other in like lovers who’ve gone way too long since they’ve seen each other.

“Vaughn.” His voice. My name. Hello. I’ve missed you. God, you’re beautiful. I’m sorry. I never knew my name could say so many things, but when he says it, it can.