Page 34 of A Man of Wealth

He grins down at me and kisses my lips. “Maybe I like you right here,” he admits as he walks us into his bathroom and sets me on a cedar stool by the enormous walk-in shower. His words are unexpected, tender, and so unlike him that I can’t even process the meaning, not now. Right now, I just want to enjoy feeling this endorphin high. He presses some buttons by the shower, and everything turns on in a similar motion to his house, yet not nearly as extravagant. This man’s homes are extra.

Once he’s pleased with the water temperature, which, by the way, means his shower beeps at him and displays that the water is ninety-two degrees. He motions for me to get under the rainfall showerhead. I sigh as I feel the perfect pressure of the water falling over me.

“You’re spoiling me,” I say on a moan as I run my hands through my wet hair. “A girl could get used to this.”

He stands in front of me, his eyes intense. “I don’t see any girls here,” he whispers in a gravelly voice. If I had on panties, they would be melted by both his words and his dark gaze. “And,” he adds as he holds a hand under what looks like a soap dispenser and then starts lathering it on my breasts, “maybe I like spoiling you…just a little,” he says with a wink.

I grin and decide I need to bank this memory in my happy memory file for later when this ends and I want to look back fondly on whatever the hell this is between us. Because just as he can be a giant dick, he can turn around and be this doting, caring, deeply sexy man. He is the definition of yin and yang. I just hope I don’t get too much whiplash from being around him.

I grab some soap and begin to return the favor. My hand glides over the ragged scar on his side. He pulls away slightly, and I pause. His words from earlier come back to me about how we had more in common than he wanted to admit. His father. Did his father do this to him?

I look up at him. He’s watching me cautiously. I feel like we have an entire conversation without speaking until I finally decide to ask him. I don’t want any more secrets between us.

Chapter15

Conner

“What did he do to you?”she asks. Only this time, I don’t feel like it’s reporter Vivienne asking. This time,shewants to know, and that changes things. I hadn’t planned on telling her anything. But the way she’s watching me and after what she shared with me, maybe it’s quid pro quo or maybe I trust her just enough to let my demons show, but either way, I find myself deciding not to lie, not to tell the story I have told so many others. It wasn’t a car accident. It wasn’t an accident at all. I take a deep breath and exhale as I let her finger trace the scar beneath my tattoo. The tattoo I got one year after he did that to me.

“My father came from a broken home. His father was a drunk. His mother was a druggie. He was raised by the streets. He started gambling as a teenager. He did well, made a name for himself. When his mother couldn’t pay her debt to her drug dealer, he took my father as collateral. Only, his boss took a liking to my dad. He raised him through his teenage years. Became his legal guardian. Forced him to straighten himself out and go to college. He sent him to the States because he didn’t want him in England. The drug boss had a shipping company. It was his front, his legal way to be part of the upper class. It was a decent size, but it was my father who after getting his degree took it to the next level. I think the brotherhood liked that my dad had connections to the underworld. He was a wildcard choice for them, but clearly, it paid off.” I pause, assessing her reaction. She doesn’t seem phased. I don’t know if that’s because she’s researched my past or if she hears so many crazy stories in her line of work that one more isn’t going to crack her veneer. Clearing my throat, I continue.

“My father wanted me to take the helm after I graduated, but I liked other things about D.C. I liked the politics. So, I explained how I could help the company by representing them and getting laws changed. He wasn’t having it. But Dad’s friends, who owned another shipping company, overheard us talking and offered to give me capital to start my lobbying firm. I took it, leased an office, hired two staff members, and the rest is history.”

“What did your dad do when he found out?”

I grin. Not because it’s a happy memory, but because that motherfucker got what he deserved that day. “He punched me. Broke my nose.”

Vivienne’s eyes go wide even though I can tell she’s fighting her reaction.

“Don’t worry,” I say as I lean over and kiss her lips. “I fractured his eye socket. And now every time he looks in the mirror, there’s a scar there, reminding him of the day his grown-ass son finally stood up for himself.”

“He gave you that scar, didn’t he?” Vivienne whispers as she points to the scar on my side.

I nod. “He caught me for the second time, trying to get into a box of my mother’s belongings. He whipped a knife out of a holster on his leg and slashed my side. He said I had two choices. I could stay and follow his orders and he’d pay for my college. Or I could leave and never come back. But if I left, I’d be dead to him, and I would never see anything of my mother’s, ever again. I lunged, he sliced my side and told me that was my one and only lesson.”

“But why? Why would he do that?” Vivienne asks. Her eyes are wide. She’s shocked. Here I thought the great Vivienne Westerly was unshockable.

I snort on a laugh. “Because the man is fucking insane. The only thing that kept him from going off his rocker was my mother, and when she died…he lost his shit. And he never got it back.”

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly as she pulls her hand away from my side and reaches up to stroke my jaw. “I’m sorry the one person you should have trusted would hurt you like this.”

I know she understands that statement more than she should, and it brings a rage up inside me again. Sensing it, she strokes my cheek gently. She bends at the waist and leans toward my scar and kisses it before standing straight again.

I cup her face in my hands and kiss her. I try to kiss away all our fears, our trust issues, the pain our fathers caused us. For a moment, we are just two people sharing our common tragedies, linked by a past that shouldn’t have happened.

When I pull back, there are tears in her eyes. I wipe them away with my thumbs. “No tears. We will give them no more tears,” I state.

She nods and reaches up to rub her eyes. “They aren’t for me, Conner. They’re for you. I keep seeing a scared boy in my mind. I wish I could reach into the past and protect him.”

I smile sadly at her. “You may not have been able to protect me, but I’m glad you’re here right now.”

“Me too,” she says with a small smile.

“OK, enough deep thoughts. Let’s get you clean,” I announce as I get the shampoo from my dispenser and start to massage it in her thick hair. I like doing this. I like the little mews she makes and how her eyes close with contentment. I like way too many things about her.

After rinsing off, I grab us towels and let Vivienne use the facilities while I check my phone. Still no messages from my father. It’s not shocking. In fact, it’s eerily normal. Something about it doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t like it, considering everything else that’s going on lately.

I look at the doorframe as Vivienne walks into the room, completely naked. She looks perfect in my room as if she was the missing thing that turned my house into a home.

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