“Have a seat,” he said, indicating a blue love seat. He turned to a small bar built into a corner, and as he walked away, I studied the intricate tattoo of a dragon that covered most of his back. I’d seen the entire tattoo only once before at a party on Evan’s boat when Cole had stripped down to swim trunks. More frequently, I would catch a glimpse peeking above his shirt on the back of his neck.
The work was detailed and beautiful, and I had no idea why he’d gotten such a large, involved tattoo. I assumed it meant something to him, but when Sloane had asked him once, he’d brushed the question away, and I had never tried to press the point.
Despite the dragon’s beauty, the image was edgy, and it gave the illusion that Cole was unpredictable and wild.
Then again, that wasn’t really an illusion, was it?
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said as he brought me a shot of whiskey, straight up.
“Let me guess,” I said dryly. “We have to talk.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “It would be a good idea.”
He sat in the chair opposite me, still wearing only the towel that was now stretched taut across his knees. I could see the shadow beneath the towel leading up to the juncture of his thighs. And though I could see nothing in those shadows, I could imagine. And I could want.
And I could get very, very distracted.
I lifted a brow and then nodded toward the towel. “Is this why you’re so successful in business? You know how to keep the other party on edge?”
“I do,” he said. “Though in most business meetings I’m fully clothed.”
“More’s the pity,” I said, and made him laugh.
“Give me a minute.” He got up, then moved to the far side of the room where a pair of gray sweatpants hung over the back of a chair. He dropped the towel, and I drew a sharp breath in response to the unexpected—and quite exceptional—view of his bare ass.
All too soon, he pulled on the sweats and turned back to me, and though he was now modestly covered, the view was still pretty damn enticing.
“I made a mistake,” he said without preamble. “The other morning on the phone. And I made a bigger one the night before that.”
“You’re wrong,” I said calmly. “But it doesn’t matter. Not right now. That’s not why I’m here.”
But it was, though. I’d come for me as much as for my father. And I was determined to walk out of this room with everything I wanted.
That was my plan—now I just had to make it fly.
He eyed me uncertainly for a moment, then sat across from me. “All right,” he said. “Tell me.”
I did, laying it all out for him. I left out the part about my childhood, about growing up in the grift. But I told him what my dad did. I told him about Muratti. I told him about needing someone to forge the will.
I told him more than enough to incriminate my dad, not to mention pull me into the web for conspiracy. In other words, I put my life and my dad’s life in Cole August’s hands. I did it because I trusted him. Because I’d seen the good that he’d done for the girls at Destiny, and I knew where his heart lay.
I thought I did, anyway.
I damn sure hoped I wasn’t wrong.
“Where is your dad now?”
“I drove him around for about an hour making sure we didn’t have a tail, then I checked him into the Windy City Motor Inn. You know. That ratty-looking place about a mile from Destiny.”
“I know it,” Cole said. “Fake name?”
“Of course. And we paid cash. He knows not to leave the room, not to charge phone calls to his credit card, not to call me on his cell phone, yada yada. I got him a burner in case he has an emergency.” I lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “He knows the drill.”
“Sounds like it. Sounds like you do, too.”
I met his eyes. Felt that shock of connection. “I told you,” I said. “I’m really not innocent.”
I kept my voice low, my meaning clear. And I could see on his face that he knew what I meant—and what I wanted.