Page 99 of Tempt Me

I’m so mad it’s a wonder there isn’t steam pouring out of my ears. I’m still knocking when the door flies open. But it’s not Caden who stands there.

It’s Russell Everton.

“Hello,” he says, looking equally shocked to see me. He glances side to side. “I thought you might be the sheriff.”

“Oh,” I say, shifting from foot to foot. “Um. No. Is Caden here?”

“He is,” Russell says, stepping back. “He’s in the kitchen. This way.”

He starts to lead me down a hall past the sweeping front staircase in the foyer. Then he stops and turns.

“I never thanked you,” he says abruptly. Russell Everton doesn’t strike me as a man who thanks anyone ever, so I’m unsure of what to say here. He must see the confusion on my face. “For vouching for my son’s whereabouts,” he clarifies. “The morning my wife…”

“Oh,” I say again.

There’s another brief, awkward pause.

“I probably should have called to thank you back then,” he says.

“Um, no you shouldn’t have.” That didn’t come out the way I meant it and I flush. “I only—just that—with everything going on—I didn’t mind…” A prickle of embarrassment creeps up the back of my neck. “I only did what anyone else in my place would have done. I told the truth.”

Russell is looking at me with a strange expression on his face, like he doesn’t know what to make of me. “You have my thanks anyway.”

Then he turns and strides off down the hall, stopping at the door to the enormous kitchen. This room I remember from the party: light and airy, with more counter space than I’ve ever seen outside a professional kitchen on TV. All the latest appliances. I bet there’s even a proving drawer.

“Caden,” he says. “You have company.”

Then he leaves. Shock flickers across Caden’s face before he stands, pushing away from his stool at the kitchen island. He’s in his usual jeans and T-shirt combination, the tattoo I’ve become so familiar with stretching over the ropes of muscle on his arm, his hair mussed, the stubble on his cheeks beginning to darken.

“Isla,” he says.

My anger flares back up again. “What the fuck, Caden?” I demand. “You broke Luke’s nose? You told him we can’t get married at Everton anymore? How could you do that? The wedding is so soon. Why are you trying to sabotage it?”

Caden’s face goes through several expressions—shock, confusion—before finally landing on anger. “Isla, I am not trying to sabotage your wedding. I didn’t say you couldn’t get married at Everton.” He grimaces. “No, wait, shit I did say that. That’s not what I meant though.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “Whatdidyou mean?”

Caden grits his teeth. His forearms flex. I can feel the tension radiating off him. “What did Luke tell you happened, exactly.”

“He told me about that waitress you and Alistair were harassing.”

Caden’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head. “What?”

I plow ahead, determined. “He said he tried to step in and help her and you got aggressive. When security came over, you blamed everything on Luke. And you told him we couldn’t have the wedding at Everton anymore. Then you punched him in the face. He got it onvideo, Caden. So don’t try to deny it.” I swallow hard. “He said you’re trying to break us up.”

Caden is breathing heavily, his face turning the color of a ripe plum. “Goddamn him,” he mutters. “Convincing indeed.” He slams a fist down on the table. I jump and see his knuckles are bruised.

“Isla, you know me,” Caden says. “Youknowme. Do you think I would harass a woman? And do you honestly think I would cancel your wedding? First of all, I don’t have the power to do that. I’m not a part of the company anymore—Daisy would have to be the one canceling. Or my father. Second, even if I did have that power, do you think that’s the way I would go about trying to break you and Luke up? Look how successful that would be. You’re even angrier at me now. I might still be in love with you but I’m not stupid.”

My brain gets stuck on the way he said he’s still in love with me. I shake my head to clear it.

“Are you saying Luke is lying to me?”

Caden gives a sad sort of half chuckle. “You should ask him that yourself.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.”

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