“Cute—are you calling a fair catch?”

  “In softball it’s a foul-out.” He takes the frame. “Hana staged this. She’s always coming up with fun ideas. She has a show in New York every other year at the Milo gallery. Blake organized the first one, and it was such a success, they keep having her back.”

  I knew this about her, but I nod, raising my eyebrows. “Cool.”

  “This is cool.” He sits at a computer and taps a few keys.

  Pictures pop up on a computer screen, and my breath stops as the images appear. It’s surveillance footage from inside Gibson’s. One feed is in a dark room with black leather sofas and no windows. It’s one of the small, back rooms where any number of dirty deals take place.

  The other is the main office, where Natasha is sitting at her desk and Rick is standing with his arms crossed in front of her. It’s a low-resolution, black and white image, but I recognize them immediately.

  The small hairs on the back of my neck prickle as I watch him watching them, knowing I could’ve been on this screen at any time. My fingers tremble, and I’m not sure my voice will cooperate.

  Clearing my throat, I ask carefully, “Is this something you’re working on?”

  “Not really. Just keeping an eye on things. These guys gave us a lot of trouble a few years back. They’re sophisticated criminals, true evil.”

  “But they’re not in jail?”

  He exhales, tapping another button that pulls up more surveillance of the street outside the club.

  “We could never pin anything on those two. Doesn’t mean they’re innocent. Just means they’re better at covering their tracks. And others are still out there. We’re waiting to see who joins the party, or my partners are.”

  Filtering through my memory, Natasha wanted to meet at the firing range to discuss sending me to Thornton. Was this the reason? To keep me off their cameras? Did she suspect she was being watched?

  The muscle in Dirk’s jaw moves as he types on his laptop. I study his profile, but there’s not a bit of evidence he connects me to the scene in front of him.

  “All done.” He closes the laptop and stands. “Pretty boring, yeah?”

  Not even a little bit.

  Blinking up at him, I force a smile. “It’s amazing what all you can do from this small office.” Stepping closer to his desk, it’s completely bare except for a Bluetooth speaker. “You don’t have any papers or books here?”

  “We keep local police reports in the filing cabinet, but nothing sensitive is stored here. Too easy to break in and steal.”

  Lifting my chin, I nod. “You keep stuff like that at your place?”

  “Scar has a secret room.”

  A secret room where a book might be hidden?

  “And you can track anyone from right here?”

  “Pretty much. Hutch and Scar can log into this feed from any networked computer, but I’m taking a break.” He catches my hand. “Ready to exercise some horses?”

  Glancing around one last time, I feel confident what I’m looking for isn’t here. If I don’t find it at Hugh’s, that leaves Scar’s secret room, wherever it might be.

  “Sure.” I manage a smile, feeling mildly uneasy. “Let’s get out of here.”

  I stand on the wooden fence resting my chin on my hand as I watch him lead the gorgeous, chocolate-brown thoroughbred around the paddock. He’s wearing that sexy cowboy hat again, and he’s holding a rope attached to the horse’s bridle.

  Training Day runs in one direction for several minutes, then Dirk nods his head and makes a clicking sound. The horse immediately changes direction and runs the other way for a little while.

  After a few more exercises, he removes the rope and loops it around his arm, allowing the horse to lope freely around the arena with the other horses.

  “He’s so well-trained.” I look up at my handsome cowboy.

  “He’s a thoroughbred. Hugh rescued him from some pretty bad stuff.”

  My brow furrows. “He rescued him?”

  A frown twists his lips, and he looks down. “His nephew, Hana and Blake’s dad, was into some bad shit, and Hugh stepped in and paid a lot of money to fix it.”

  That sounds like the story I remember. My past gave me a front-row seat for most of the van Hamilton indiscretions. I was there for almost all of Hana’s, and I can’t help wondering what it took for her to find redemption. What would it take for me to find it?

  Dancer trots up to where Dirk stands, and he slides his hand along the horse’s neck. “That’s my girl.”

  “I think she’s jealous.” Watching him with these animals, his expert hands and mastery of the training, fills me with unexpected pride.

  He’s so much more than I was led to believe when I was sent here looking for a computer nerd.

  “She’s spoiled is more like it.” The horse lifts her nose and snuffles at his head, knocking off the cowboy hat.

  I laugh, picking it up and putting it on my head. “I like you as a cowboy.”

  He gives the horse one last pat and climbs the fence, tossing a leg over and dropping to stand beside me. “Better than a professor?”

  “Hmm…” Twisting my lips, I study him here, leaning down, caging me with his arms. “That’s a difficult question, Professor Winston. Can I choose all of the above?”

  “Actually, you can.” He flicks the hat further back on my head before covering my mouth with his, flooding my insides with need and drowning out my fears.

  Was it only a few days ago we were sneaking around on campus, stealing moments in his office, in his Jeep, in that hay maze? Now it feels so natural, so easy and free.

  Sliding my hands up his chest, I curl my fingers, pulling him closer. I want to keep him in this place with me. It’s so safe and good.

  His lips move to my brow, and large hands slide under my shirt, thumbs circling my hard nipples. A sigh aches from my throat as heat floods my core, and he exhales a groan.

  “I love that sound.” His mouth covers mine again, sliding over my lips. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”

  Fire hums under my skin as I watch him round up the horses. His expression is focused, brow lowered as he gives them a sharp whistle, and they begin to trot to their respective stalls.

  Excitement makes me laugh. “They know when you mean business.”

  He cuts me a look that shoots fire to my core, and I know when he means business, too.

  Thirty minutes later, I’m straddling him in the bed, holding his arms over his head as we moan in time. I’m riding him, and with every thrust, I touch stars. I can’t hold out much longer, working my hips, clenching my core.

  At last he shoots between my legs, groaning deeply as he comes. I drop my head, letting my orgasm take me. Pulsing and shuddering, it’s another insane high, sparked by a friendly wrestling match. So hot…

  The deep-red signs of a hickey are on his collarbone and another is on his chest. Biting my lip, I grin thinking I did that. Sweeping my hair back, I lean down and nip his jaw with my teeth. His hands are on my ass, squeezing and caressing.

  “I won,” I purr, but when I sit up again, I catch him smiling. “What?”

  “I let you win.”

  “Bullshit, you did not!” I push against his chest, and he flips me onto my back, holding me down.

  “I love watching you ride my cock.” In a swoop, he covers my mouth with his, swallowing my protests, then melting them with a hot swipe of his tongue.

  “I made you come first!”

  “And it was fucking hot.” He collapses onto the bed beside me. “I really like this game. Thank you for introducing it to me.”

  Rolling into his chest, I laugh. “I made it up.”

  His hand is on my back, stroking and lifting my hair, twisting it around his finger. “I am here for all your made-up games. In fact, you should write them down. They’re way better than Quidditch.”

  “Quidditch.” I scoot higher in the bed beside him, and he wraps the blanket around us. “You never told me why Goblet is your favorite Harry Potter book.”

  “Well…” He hugs me tight against his chest in a possessive way I love before reaching for his battered paperback. “It’s probably not the best one in the series, but when I got to it, Hutch took me to the store to get my very own copy.”

  Sitting up, I take the book from him and shake it so the picture falls out. Lifting it up, I study his adorable little boy face in glasses, holding the giant book.

  “Is this the day?”

  His eyes warm, and he takes the photo from me. “That’s the one.”

  Holding it a moment, he studies the faces in a way that makes my chest ache.

  “It made an impression on me. It was the first one that went really dark,” he explains. “It was almost 700 pages long, which blew my mind. I’d never read a book that long—I didn’t even know they existed. Everything about it was just… big.”

  “Look at you in your glasses.” My voice is soft. “I bet you were the cutest little boy walking around with that giant book. Adorable little nerd.”

  “Hey,” he laughs, rolling us over so he can hold me down again. I don’t protest.

  Again, our lips unite in hungry kisses. We can never get enough. We can’t stop touching each other, and even with that last fantastic fuck, I feel his hardness against my leg. It stokes the fire simmering in my lower belly, the one that never goes out for him.

  Lifting his head, he looks deep into my eyes and asks the one question I can’t answer. “What are we doing? I went to Thornton to teach, not to find this… with a student.”

  I know he didn’t, and my eyes slide closed. An invisible hand closes around my neck, but I answer truthfully. “I want this so much.”

  He hears the hesitation in my voice. “But you’re just getting started with your life—”

  “No,” My eyes meet his again. “It’s not that. It’s just… old business I need to settle.”

  “Is it about your father’s death?” His brow lowers.

  Blinking away, I nod. “And some other things. I can’t really talk about it.”

  “Okay.” The tension leaves his voice, and he bends down to kiss me again. I love his kisses. “When you’re ready… maybe I can help you.”

  Chewing my lip, I trace my fingers through his soft hair.

  When I’m ready.

  19

  Reanna

  Dirk is lying on his back, fast asleep when I awake with a start. I know my phone went off, and I know what it means. I lie still a moment longer, making sure he’s completely out. His hands are on me, but it’s not hard to slide from under them and off the side of the bed.

  Hesitating, I study his profile in the dusk, straight nose, full lips, square jaw dusted with a light scruff that drives me wild when his head is between my thighs. How I wish I could stay here and forget everything that brought me here.

  He’s my dirty professor, my gorgeous nerd, my sexy cowboy, and another buzz on my phone tells me our time is up. Pushing my infatuation to the back burner, I carefully step into my black leggings and a long-sleeved navy sweater. Socks are on my feet, and I close the curtains around his bed.

  Using the light on my phone, I tip-toe across his enormous loft apartment to his desk. It’s an incredible risk, but I have to search here. Sliding my fingers over the stack of papers and books on his wide-plank desk, I lift and open covers, read briefly and set aside, doing my best to search quickly without making any sound.

  It doesn’t take long to go through everything on the desktop. Another, careful glance over my shoulder, and I have to go for the drawers. One on each side and a narrow one in the middle.

  Holding my breath, I slide the first drawer open, only to find an assortment of wires and computer adapters. Shining my light to the bottom, nothing more is there. The narrow, middle drawer is essentially empty but for a stack of Post-Its, a few check stubs, and several twist-ties. I slowly open the last drawer, and my shoulders drop.

  Power strips, a discarded keyboard, and two portable hard drives are inside. I’m sure they have valuable information on them, for someone or something, but none of this is the book I need. I slide the drawer closed and crouch lower, crawling beneath the desk and shining the light all around in case there’s a secret compartment or something taped under the desk.

  Nothing.

  I crawl out again and inspect the surface to be sure everything looks the same as it did when I got here. Returning to the bedroom area, I cross my arms, trying to decide my next move. It’s 4:00 a.m., and I have an idea.

  Moving fast, I pack all my things in my bag and grab one of the Post-Its out of his desk. I quickly write a note saying I had to leave early and stick it on his phone. No texting—I don’t want to wake him.

  I take one last look at him sleeping so peacefully. My fingers curl with longing to touch him, but I can’t lose any more time. My brief visit to heaven is over, and the devil is waiting for me.

  Carrying my boots, I creep to his door and open it slowly, slipping out to the stairs leading to the first floor where I step into my boots and go around to the back where a golf cart is parked behind a motorcycle.

  It’s a gamble, but it pays off. I press the power button on the cart and silently cruise out into the night, headed for Hugh van Hamilton’s estate.

  A full moon is out, but occasionally a cloud will drift by and obscure it, sending the narrow, country roads from brilliant, silvery light, to dark shadows. Still, I’m confident of the route, and it’s not long before I reach the long circular driveway leading to the mansion.

  Avoiding the gravel, I take a sharp curve, following the path around to where the stables are located, and I park near the barn behind an enormous rhododendron bush.

  The metallic scent of dew hangs in the air, touching my tongue, and the thick, carpet grass is coated in a haze of moisture. Looking behind me, the tracks leading to where I hid the cart are unmistakable, but it’s too late to turn back now. I can only hope no one notices until after the sun rises and melts away the evidence.

  My boots make soft thudding noises on the dirt as I dash up the alley in the center of the dark barn. The horses are asleep in their stalls, but one brown head lifts over a door to see what’s happening. I’d like to stop and pet Training Day, but everything has changed, and I’m playing beat the clock.

  On a hunch, I creep across the short yard to the kitchen door at the rear of the house, silently climbing the back steps and holding my breath. He said it’s always open. I turn the handle, and…

  It opens.

  A knot twists in my throat, and a pit is in my stomach. I’m somewhere between relieved and miserable, and I reach down to quickly remove my boots. The house is dark, and the only signs I’ve seen of Norris the butler are the fresh plates of sandwiches in the afternoons when we’ve been here.

  I don’t have time to wonder as I make my way rapidly to the large office I partially searched two days ago.

  Bursting in, I quietly shut the heavy oak door, then I round the desk fast, pulling the drawers open and moving papers aside, not worrying about the mess. The pressure of time passing weighs on my shoulders, and I’m as worried about losing this chance as I am about getting caught.

  My heart is a steady drumbeat in my ears, and I hear myself breathing fast. When Dirk caught me last time, I had searched all the bookshelves and found nothing but leather-bound classic literature and the occasional law book.

  This desk is my only hope. All the drawers on the left side seem to be tax documents, deeds to the house, appraisal forms, receipts for repairs, no books. The narrow center drawer holds pens, paper clips, Post-It notes, all the usual office supplies, stamps, binder clamps. I shove it closed and go immediately to the right hand drawers.

  Top drawer, more papers. I shove my fingers down, lifting them up like flipping pages in a book. Nothing. I slam it closed and move to the second and last one. It’s a deep drawer, with several items stacked on top of each other.

  A cigar box is on top, and I lift it, opening the lid and checking the contents. Three Don Arturo cigars remain inside, which I know from Gibson’s sell for $15,000 a box. Setting it on the desk, I take out the next item. It’s a very thin volume with a pale blue and cream cover. Opening it, I see it’s a hand-written edition of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. A little stab pierces my chest, and I wonder how his uncle has this rare edition… Looking up, I see pale blue light warming the edges of the trees through the small oval window. Time’s up.

  Setting the special edition Harry Potter aside, my fingertips tingle as they slide across the next book in the drawer, and lifting it out, I swallow my breath. A long, thin volume with a dark brown leather spine and beige fabric cover is in my hands.

  Opening it, I see in the top right the initials VP-K, and I stand, shoving it in my bag and quickly returning everything to the drawer. I’m moving so fast, I don’t give myself time to react. I only know I’ve got the ledger, and I’ve got to get out of here now.

  The sun is getting closer to breaking over the horizon, and I need to be far, far from here when it does. Everything is returned to the desk, and I open the door slowly. The house is still dark, and I take two steps in my socked feet, retracing the direction I came, when a creak of wooden floor freezes me in place.

  My fists tighten on my bag, and I’m stock-still with my back pressed into a corner behind a wingback chair. Silence falls in the dark living room. My heart beats so hard, it nauseates me, and I hold my breath. The vibration of another human’s presence is intense.

  It’s not Dirk, and I’m sure it’s not the butler, who would most likely walk without hesitation to the kitchen to begin the day. Dirk mentioned a bodyguard, but wouldn’t he travel with Mr. van Hamilton?

  Dirk’s family was supposed to arrive back today, but I’m pretty sure he said it would be later. Is it possible someone came back early? I’m doing my best to shrink smaller into the darkness when another creak of wood flooring lights every nerve in my body.

  Whoever is in here is moving slowly, cautiously towards the office, where I just was. From the sound of it, they’re on the other side of the bookcase, and I don’t move. As soon as the door opens, I take off fast as a rabbit, not stopping for anything.