Friendships? They’re building a friendship?
“Let me be crystal clear,” Shane replies. “We’re not friends. We will never be friends. But allies with a common cause that includes getting you the hell out of my business, perhaps.”
“Well then, potential ally,” Adrian says, “why don’t you show good faith and invite me inside?”
Shane doesn’t immediately react, and I don’t believe that’s indecision but rather a strategy I hope leads to a decline of this man’s invite into our home. But when he turns to me and motions me forward, draping his arm around me, I’m pretty sure Martina’s rejection isn’t in the cards. “You must be Emily,” Martina greets me, offering me his hand, which I can’t take without my blouse gaping.
He notices too, his gaze touching my blouse, his lips quirking as he gives me a nod instead. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, pleased with the sincere tone I’ve mustered.
“Sorry to interrupt your evening,” he continues, a hint of amusement in his eyes that I know is about my torn, open blouse. “I’ll be as fast as your man allows.”
Shane walks me past Martina, toward the door with the words “your man” in my mind. I’m not sure why that bothers me coming from this man, when with anyone else, I think it might please me. Shane opens the door and motions me forward, catching my waist and stepping up behind me to whisper, “Go upstairs.”
I enter the apartment, flipping on the lights to illuminate the long hallway that leads to the place I’ve started calling home and safe. A place where a drug lord is not welcome. Moving forward, my feet touching the pale bamboo floors, I feel Martina behind me, and my instincts demand I turn to face the door, and him. And, sure enough, I find him just inside the doorway, close, too close, and I am now staring into his brown, intelligent eyes that don’t ever leave my face, and yet this man has a way of making you feel touched by his presence. This is a man who could seduce his way into many a foolish woman’s bed, or equally so into many a foolish banker’s or businessperson’s secret bottom drawer holding the key to their vault. And he wants to be Shane’s business partner. I just want him gone.
Shane appears beside Martina, his eyes sharpening on me. “Emily—”
“I’m going upstairs,” I say, forcing myself to turn, heading down the hallway. I’ve just approached the stairwell and placed a foot on the bottom step when I hear Martina say, “You’re protective of her, as I am of my sister. But know this, Shane Brandon. If you are loyal to any agreement we make, now or later, as I assure you I will be in reverse, I will protect her, even kill for her.”
My blood runs cold at the veiled threat that to me clearly has an unspoken addition: if you’re not loyal to me, I’ll kill her. And who knows how he defines loyalty or what nasty task he might demand as proof? Footsteps sound on the hardwood floor behind me, spurring me into action, and I quickly head to the upper level, but I don’t enter the master bedroom immediately in front of me. Instead, I flatten against the wall and lower myself to a squat, taking shelter behind the railing of the stairwell, where I intend to do my best to listen in on the conversation being had between the man I love and a man whose claim to fame is a family-run drug cartel. But really, when you’re in bed with a drug cartel, is there anywhere you can truly find shelter?
CHAPTER FIVE
SHANE
I am not pleased that Martina got past the security team I’m paying a small fortune, but that’s a problem I’ll be taking up with Seth later. Right now I have a drug lord to contend with. Motioning forward, I lead Martina down the hallway, toward the living room. His agenda for this visit, which has nothing to do with my phone call, is evident to me in one statement: I will protect her, even kill for her. That wasn’t a threat. Not when he’d prefaced it by exposing the vulnerability that he has in his sister. He’s too smart to offer me a weakness without intent, which I read as him trying to build trust with me. He doesn’t want me to be his little bitch. He wants me to be part of his inner circle, where he believes he can convince me to play his game, which tells me one thing. Derek was right. He doesn’t want out of Brandon Enterprises. He wants my invitation inside, which means the choppy water I was treading in is now treacherous.
“You like whiskey?” I ask as we enter the living area, high ceilings above us, leather furnishings in the center of the oval-shaped room, framed by windows, the Denver skyline dotting the darkness with white lights.
“Tequila’s in my blood,” he says, scanning the windows before he looks at me. “But I do enjoy an occasional whiskey if it hits the right note.” He changes the topic. “Nice place. A safe zone overlooking the city. I might have to consider a similar option.”
“Safe from everyone but you apparently,” I say dryly, indicating the pale bar wrapped in bamboo against the wall and between the kitchen and the patio door, where we both travel to and stop. “Let’s see if I can hit the right note on that whiskey,” I add, setting two glasses in front of me. I reach for a glass decanter, removing the plug. “This is a Balvenie forty-year-old single-malt Scotch whiskey.” I fill the glasses. “You’ll find it has some spice to it, worthy of a man with expensive tastes and a penchant for good tequila.” I hand him a glass.
He takes it and swirls the amber liquid, studying me, not it. “You’re wondering how I got past your security team, which is an excellent team, by the way.”
“Apparently not, or you wouldn’t have gotten by them. And I’d like to know how.”
His lips curve. “You know I’m not going to tell you that.” He lifts the glass to his mouth, lashes lowering, his palate savoring the rich apple, oak, and cinnamon flavors. “Hmmm. Exceptional.” He downs the rest of the glass and sets it on the table. “I owe you a tequila worthy of that whiskey.”
“I’ll take you up on that,” I say, knowing this is the way of trade and respect that I’ve learned in many a business dealing, which this is, and more.
“Let’s have a frank talk about family and business.”
I empty my glass and set it down as well. “On the balcony,” I say, indicating the glass door.
“Of course,” he says. “We wouldn’t want to upset your woman, who is no doubt listening in right now, ready to state an opinion the instant I’m gone. That too is like my sister.” He moves to the door and opens it, the motion detector setting off the dim glow of lights.
I join him and we walk to the railing, both of us leaning elbows on the steel surface, the glass beneath it reminding me of the day I’d stripped Emily naked and leaned her against it. I wanted her vulnerable, exposed to me in every way, which in a different sense is exactly what Martina wants of me now.
“You’ve made millions in New York,” he says. “You’re considered one of the top attorneys in the country.”