Page 53 of Reveal

“C’mon.” He tugs on my hand, and I slide a glance his way when he wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close.

Steam sneaks up from the subway grates on the streets, and trash cans are overflowing, but the soft hue of the streetlights above and the comforting noises of a sleepy city surround us.

“Hungry?” he asks when he veers into a hole-in-the-wall pizza place. My hand flies to my stomach as I suddenly realize I am. Within minutes, we are back on the street with a box of pizza and a bag complete with paper plates and napkins.

“Ryker, what are you—?”

“Shh,” he says and then presses a chaste kiss to my lips. When he steps back, his laughter rings out as he steers me around a column beneath the darkened shadows of the High Line. Running a little over two miles through the West Side of Manhattan, it’s an old train platform that has been repurposed into a park of sorts.

“Here. Hold this.” Ryker pushes the pizza my way when we come to what looks like a gate that’s been rolled down at one of the entrances. I take it from him as he squats down in the darkness and grabs the lock.

Breaking and entering.

“Ryker?”

“Keep your voice down, will you?”

“What are you doing?”

“You mean what are we doing?” I can hear the smile in his tone even though I can’t see his face. “We are picking a lock.”

“Ryker!” My voice is sterner this time, my whisper harsher. “This is illegal. We can’t do this.”

His laugh is a low chuckle as I hear metal on metal with whatever it is that he’s doing. “Stepdad number who-knows-what was a developer who built some of the condos about a quarter mile down the park from here.”

“Okay.” I stretch the word out as I try to figure out what that has to do with anything.

“After school I’d have to come here and wait for him to finish up before going home. Most times he’d just put me in his car and have the driver take me, since he was too busy to give me the time of day. While I’d wait, some of the construction crew would show me a thing or two.” I can hear the reminiscence in his voice. I can also hear the silent animosity over having a father figure who was anything but.

“Did you ever use these skills you learned?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny . . .”

“Ah, the rebellious rich kid who liked walking on the wrong side of the tracks.”

“Something like that.” There’s a clink and then the sudden sound of the metal gate rolling up. Ryker holds his hand out to me. “Come on.”

I look over my shoulder and hesitate. “Can’t we get in trouble for this?”

Without warning, Ryker tugs on my hand so that I’m flush against him, pizza almost tipping in my other hand just as his mouth meets mine.

Good God, the man can kiss.

It’s my only thought as his tongue slips between my lips and reminds me of everything about him that I’ve missed. The warmth of his body. The taste of his kiss. The scrape of his stubble against my jaw. The hum of vibration deep in his throat.

“Trying not to get in trouble is part of the thrill.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Vaughn

The lights of Hoboken across the Hudson are laid out before us. Ryker and I are sitting on some kind of wooden chaise longue type of chair, the leftover pizza in a box on the chair next to us. Condos tower behind us with most of their lights off, the occupants fast asleep, but there is an occasional bout of laughter or domestic sound here and there.

And of course a siren wails or a horn honks every now and then, making me jump like one just did.

“You really are worried, aren’t you?” Ryker asks as his finger draws lazy lines up and down the length of my spine. I’m sitting up while he’s lying back, obviously more relaxed at this being-where-we-shouldn’t-be type of thing.

“Aren’t you worried? You’re the one who practices law for a living. What if we’re caught? What if they press charges? What if—”