So why am I still hearing Jared Rush’s deep voice warning me that Daniel is hiding something from me? That he doesn’t deserve me?
Because I’m already allowing Rush to take me down a dark path, that’s why. It has to be. Maybe he only said those things to manipulate me, to begin deconstructing me before his brush makes its first stroke on the canvas. Or maybe he just thinks I’m a fool for loving Daniel.
Anyway, it doesn’t matter why Jared Rush said what he did.
It doesn’t matter what he thinks.
If I have my doubts about Daniel, they’re my own to either work through or leave behind. Right now, I’m not sure I’m ready to do either one. Especially not here, in the middle of the clamor and chaos of the diner.
“I should get back to my tables.”
When I pull my hand away, Daniel comes off the chair to stand with me. His touch moves to my shoulders, resting lightly there, his thumbs stroking absently. “What time does your shift end? I have a client meeting in an hour that I can’t miss, but I want to see you. I need to see you.”
“Daniel, I can’t.” I step out of his touch, out of his reach.
“Can’t, or don’t want to?”
“I have a paper to write tonight.” Which is true, but also a welcome excuse for some space to myself. It won’t last nearly long enough, though. “In the morning, I have to go back to Rush’s place,” I say, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and trepidation over the idea. “We’re going to his studio in the Hamptons tomorrow.”
“The Hamptons.” Daniel scoffs, his voice tight. A bleak acknowledgment settles over his face before he curses under his breath. “I hate everything about this damn arrangement. You belong to me, Melanie. I hate the idea of Rush being alone with you. I hate the idea of him looking at you, even if he says it’s only to paint you.”
I can tell he hates this, and for the first time, I wonder if that might have been the point. Knowing what little I do about Jared Rush, it wouldn’t surprise me if he isn’t taking some amount of satisfaction in the idea of causing Daniel distress.
“How long have you and Jared Rush known each other?”
He shrugs dismissively. “I guess about a month, a little more. We were introduced at the firm, when he approached us about his Gramercy Park hotel project. Why?”
“I’m just curious.” But it’s more than that. I am suspicious in a way that makes little sense to me. Suspicious of Daniel, of Jared Rush, of things I’ve never questioned before in my life.
Meeting Jared Rush has raised countless questions in my mind. He’s stirring a paranoia in me, along with other, uninvited feelings I can’t deny. Those feelings still linger inside me as powerfully as his dark, dangerous voice.
“Mel, what’s wrong?” Daniel reaches for me and I flinch at his touch.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, distracted and edgy. “I should get back to work now.”
“All right.” He frowns, letting his hand fall slowly to his side.
He walks me out to the busy restaurant dining room. When we pause at the exit, he leans forward to kiss me and I move my head, giving him my cheek instead of my lips. I tell myself it’s because we’re in front of a diner full of nosy customers, but the small niggle of unease in my stomach is saying something different.
Daniel clears his throat. “Will you promise to call me tomorrow . . . after? I need to know you’ve gotten home safely. Can you at least give me that?”
“Okay.” I nod, forcing a smile I don’t really feel.
12
MELANIE
That next morning, I find myself seated between Jared Rush and the pilot of a sleek black helicopter chopping high above Long Island under beautiful, sunny skies. The private charter had been waiting for us at an exclusive heliport along the East River just a few minutes away from the mansion at Lenox Hill.
When Rush had accompanied me to his chauffeured Mercedes parked at the curb outside his home nearly an hour ago, I hadn’t been expecting we’d be flying to Sagaponack. Least of all suspended in a small, speeding metal box with far too much window glass for my peace of mind.
“Nervous?”
His deep voice vibrates close to my ear. Every time I hear him speak, it unravels something inside me. Now is no different. The low rumble cleaves through my thoughts, and my anxiety, which is hardly insignificant.
My stomach climbed up behind my rib cage the moment we took flight and still hasn’t come down. I want to chalk it up to the fact that I’ve never flown in a helicopter before, but part of the distracting flutter inside me has to do with the close proximity of Rush’s body to mine.
I give him a half-shrug, half-shake of my head. “I’m fine.”
He tilts his head, obviously unconvinced. “Is this your first time in a helicopter?”
“Yes.” The bird dips a little at a hiccup in the air, and my hand shoots out in reflex to brace myself. Rush’s denim-clad leg is the closest thing in my reach. I grab for him without even realizing it until I feel the heat of his hard thigh clamped under my fingertips.
Oh, God. I snatch my hand back on a wince. “Sorry.”
“No worries.” That easy Southern drawl sounds more pronounced with the low chuckle that accompanies it. Everything about him seems calm and unfazed the farther we get away from the city. All except the look in his dark gaze. It sears me with its intensity as he watches me. “I take it you don’t like flying?”
“It’s not flying that bothers me.” The helicopter bobs again, and I suck in a breath. “I don’t really like heights much.”
“You don’t like heights and you don’t like the dark. I’m intrigued,” he says, studying me with a look that seems more serious than his easy tone would indicate.
My stomach
