Page 83 of Resist

“How did you . . . how does someone fall into . . . doing this?”

“Everyone has a different path.”

His brandy-colored eyes flick up to mine, searching for answers I think he can see I’m not going to give. I’ve been forthcoming tonight—I’ve let him in places I swore would always be off limits—but for some reason, I just shake my head ever so slightly and let him know not this.

I can see his mind working. The cogs shifting, the gears switching speeds so everything falls into place. “And so you run the business because it’s quick money—good money—to pay down the bills, and then work yourself to the bone at Apropos so that there is a paper trail to explain where your income comes from?”

It’s a blessing and a curse that he’s intelligent. He can connect the dots, figure things out so I don’t have to explain everything . . . but what if I don’t want everything explained? What if I don’t want all of me uncovered?

“Something like that,” I murmur into my glass, suddenly more aware than ever I put so much more of me on the line than I ever have. So much more of me to be picked apart and judged.

But the look on his face says anything but that. His expression is as calm as his voice when he finally speaks. “You’re pretty amazing.”

I blush. I’m sure my cheeks are a deep red, and I avert my eyes because as he knows, the compliment makes me uncomfortable. “Just doing what needs to be done is all.”

“Vaughn.” His voice is soft, coaxing me to meet his eyes. “Not many people would go to these lengths to get custody of their niece.”

“Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.” I stand abruptly, and I think he knows I don’t need to use the bathroom but rather need a moment to come to terms with letting him in when I’m so damn used to shutting everybody out.

But he lets me walk away without a fight. He allows me a respite to go in the bathroom, lean my head against the wall, and take a deep breath, never more aware how much he listened and didn’t give back in return.

Vulnerability eats me whole.

The notion that I just gave him enough information about myself to destroy me if he sees the need to.

“This bathroom is taken,” I yell through the closed door when a fist jiggles the lock and then pounds on it. “Occupied.”

“Vaughn.”

Tears suddenly burn the backs of my eyes, and for the life of me, I don’t know why. Is it the sudden feelings I have for Ryker? The ones I thought I’d never be able to feel for anybody but that are here nonetheless? Feelings I thought I was immune to.

It’s because you just told him way too much of yourself and feel vulnerable. Just because he listened and was kind doesn’t mean you have to like him.

But I know that’s not why I like him.

And how screwed up is that? How messed up is the notion that I tried to fill in for Lola, screwed up the sex part with her client, and then he blackmailed me in a sense so that I’d have to see him again, and I’m actually falling for him?

Maybe it’s because of that, that you like him.

What normal man would chase after a woman who pushed him off her?

“Vaughn?”

Deep breath.

Open the door.

Those eyes. Brandy colored. Full of concern. Rapt with desire.

“I’m fine.”

His hands frame my face, those eyes searching mine for answers I’m afraid he sees even if I don’t give them to him. He leans in ever so slowly and brushes his lips to mine. It’s the slightest of touches but packs so much emotion in it that when he pulls back, I keep my eyes closed a little bit longer than normal to memorize the feel of it.

When I do open them, he’s still there, still patient, with the slightest of smiles turning up the corners of his mouth and desire darkening in his eyes. “Should we get out of here?”

I know before I answer what exactly it is I’m agreeing to. I know that even though he said there would be no sex, there will be.

And a part of me is absolutely terrified and turned on and confused all at the same time.