Page 131 of Resist

“Exactly.” She smiles at me and takes another bite.

I should, too, but my mind’s on things other than food at the moment.

It’s on her.

I stare at her. At the gold in her hair and how the breeze blows it around her head. At the smile on her face and the color being outdoors has put on her cheeks.

“What?” she asks, suddenly shy under my observation.

“You surprise me more and more every day,” I murmur.

“That’s a good thing?” she asks cautiously.

“That’s a good thing, Vaughn.” I take a deep breath and shake my head. “You told me once that when your debt was paid off, you were going to wash your hands of the business.” She nods. “I didn’t believe you. I thought there was no way a person would walk away from money like that. I was wrong.”

Her soft smile tells me she appreciates hearing it. “This isn’t me, Ryker.”

“I know it’s not.”

“I just want Lucy. This is all for her. My goal was to build up my book of business, my contact list, and then sell it to a competitor. Pay off my debts and put away any extra for Lucy’s future medical needs since she’ll have them for the rest of her life. That’s all I want.”

“Not for you. For Lucy.”

“Yes.”

“You’re incredible—you know that?” And that’s an understatement if ever I’ve heard one.

“Ryker? Is that you?” With a smile I can’t help, I stare at her a beat longer before turning to see Ted Talon, media magnate, and greet him. We talk about nothing; all the while my mind is still on Vaughn.

Always seems to be these days.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Vaughn

“This is heaven,” I moan as I dip the spoon in the large tub of chocolate chip cookie dough sitting on the kitchen island between us and take another scoop.

“You have your definition of what heaven tastes like,” he says with a lift of his brow and a glance down to between my thighs, “and I have mine.”

“Is that so?” I ask.

“I did warn you that we’d use this island, didn’t I?”

I laugh. “I don’t think you had this in mind, though,” I say, referring to the fact that we are both sitting atop it, cross-legged, facing each other, with the tub of dough between us.

“Definitely not.”

“You were quite the social butterfly today,” I say and then finish the bite on my spoon. “It didn’t matter where we went—everyone was coming up to talk to you like they haven’t seen you in forever.”

He takes a bite and then uses the spoon to point at me. “I know. The cat’s out of the bag.” He chuckles as I furrow my brow, not understanding. “Be prepared for the nosy neighbors to swing by and say hi now.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Being rich is one thing . . . but most people around here are rich and bored, and that only elevates their nosiness to a whole new level.”

“Do you not come here often? Is that why they are so friendly?” I ask.

“Not as often as I’d like,” he murmurs and takes my glass of wine from my hand and sips from it. “And it’s not me they’re stopping by to chat with. It’s you they’re checking out.”