“I’ll have a scotch, neat. Nothing else.” I added the last part, hoping she’d get the hint that I didn’t want to be bothered. It was a long flight to Paris, and she was the kind of woman who liked to think that meant it was okay to get cozy.
“Yes, sir.” She gave me the kind of coy, innocent look that only the dirtiest women know how to give. That one was going to be trouble. I was already planning for it.
To be honest, there was a time when I might have taken her up on whatever I was sure she was going to offer, though I preferred to be the one doing the propositioning. But I didn’t have an interest in it anymore. Not when I could still taste Sabrina on my lips. Not when I could still feel the weight of her pleas tugging at my chest.
The stewardess brought me my drink, and I thanked her with enough of a growl to set her scampering. I took a hard swallow, letting the burn dull all other feeling. Then I pulled out my phone and loaded up the only picture I kept of Sabrina on my cell. I had hundreds of her, sure, but this one I’d taken myself, while she’d been sleeping in my bed. It was my favorite. She was naked, the sheet only pulled up to her waist, but what made it special was that she was curled up in my arms.
It was the only picture that had ever been taken of us together.
If I wanted to keep her safe, there would never be another one again.
“We’re ready for takeoff, Mr. Kincaid, as soon as you are.”
I looked up to see the pilot standing in front of me, waiting for my command.
I wasn’t ready to leave her. I’d never be ready.
But I knew what I had to do.
After finishing off my scotch in a single swallow, I nodded to the pilot. “Let’s go.”
Donovan and Sabrina’s story concludes in Dirty Filthy Rich Love.
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Dirty Filthy Rich Love
Prologue
I brought the tumbler of scotch to my lips, taking another sip as the Frou Frou song playing from the Spotify app on my phone started up again. How many times could a song be listened to on repeat? If there was a limit, I was approaching mine.
I pressed my cheek against my bedroom window and watched the lonely street below. The glass was cold against my skin, a stark contrast to the liquor burning in my chest. Winter had set in just in time for the Thanksgiving holiday. The few people still out this late were well bundled in gloves and scarves, and hats pulled down over their ears.
I still didn’t have enough winter wear. There’d been no need for warm gloves in L.A., and I’d only been in New York since September. My sister had already given me a hard time about it when she’d arrived earlier in the evening, and a shopping trip was on the agenda for the next day.
My wardrobe would soon be remedied. Audrey would make sure of that. In one night, she’d already rearranged my living room furniture and put up the rest of the framed photographs and knickknacks I hadn’t bothered to unpack.
If only she could fix the inside of me as easily as she addressed the outside.
No, I had to be the one to fix this mess.
I thought back to the conversation I’d had with Audrey before she’d slipped off to bed in my guest room.
“Will you press charges?” she’d asked.
“I don’t want to press charges.” I wanted explanations. I wanted theories confirmed. I didn’t want more distance between us.
I didn’t want any distance at all.
She’d smiled as though she got it, and because she was my sister, maybe she did, even without me explaining. “So you’ll go to France, then. Make him tell you what’s up.”
“He doesn’t deserve that either. He can run all he wants. I’m not chasing. I have more respect for myself than that.”
“Good. I respect you too.” She’d laughed then. “Probably not the best idea to chase someone who’s obviously been stalking you for ten years anyway.”
“Probably not.” Though I wasn’t really worried about him. He was dangerous, yes. Dangerous to me. But he wouldn’t hurt me. Not like that. Not the kind of hurt that anyone else could see.
“You’ll figure it out,” she’d said in the end. “You always do.”
I knew what I had to do already. Just…being bold enough to do it.
Another sip of scotch. Another full listen to the old song on repeat.
This time when the silent pause came at the end, I put down my glass and reached over for the phone instead. I turned off the music, pulled up my contacts and only shivered slightly when I found his name.
Two weeks had passed. I didn’t have to do this now.
But it might as well be now.
I hit the CALL button and waited.
It rang once. Twice. It was after midnight here. He’d just be waking up. Another ring. Was he alone? One more ring.
Then his voice.
His voicemail, actually. I hadn’t exactly expected him to answer, and it was easier leaving a message.
Still, somehow it was disappointing. As though a small part of me had hoped he’d see my name and rush to hear my voice. Wouldn’t I rush to answer if he’d been the one to call?
Maybe not.
Probably not.
The beep sounded and caught me off guard. But I was ready with what I wanted to say.
“Donovan. It’s me. I know about the file you have on me. We should talk.”
Chapter 1
“There’s nobody here,” Audrey said as we stepped out of my office.
It was Monday evening and wrapping things up after a hectic afternoon had taken longer than planned. It was hard enough getting everything done in a short holiday week. On top of that, I’d lost my weekend to visiting with my sister—time I would have usually spent behind my desk.
It had been three days now since Audrey had arrived.
Three days since I’d left the message for Donovan.
Three days and no return call.
But I wasn’t thinking about that. Or rather, I was trying as hard as possible not to think about that. Trying as hard as possible not to let on how much it hurt.
Work was a good distraction. Audrey was an even better distraction.
“When you got here it was almost five,” I said, locking my office door behind me. Thankfully, there was plenty to occupy her in the city while I worked. It would be a miracle if she got even a quarter of her agenda crossed off before she had to go back to school on Sunday. But even with the many other exciting items on her list, I’d convinced her to stop by my office so I could show her around.
More like so I could show off.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. “That was an hour ago. Most everyone’s gone home now.”
“Do you always work this late?” The question was accusatory.
“I usually work later.” I didn’t mention that part of the reason we’d stayed late tonight was because she’d had to tell me all about the bus tour she’d taken earlier in the day.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared in my direction. “Workaholic.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re a workaholic too. Your work is just more artsy so you can more easily disguise it as a hobby. Come on.” I threw my keys in my bag and hitched the strap on my shoulder. “Let me show you around.”