About That Night
Page 75
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Maybe it was the fact that the headache had weakened her defenses. Or maybe it was just him.
Either way, with a sleepy smile, she laid her head back down on his chest. “Yes.”
Thirty
RYLANN SPENT MOST of the following day reviewing the ATF investigation reports in a new case she’d just picked up—eleven guys in a suburb selling illegal firearms out of a warehouse, yes, yes, very bad stuff—while secretly trying not to wonder where Kyle planned to take her that evening. He’d been very mysterious about his plans, which seemed to be his modus operandi, the only hint being when he’d asked if she could leave work at four thirty.
“Ooh…I bet he’s whisking you off on a private jet, taking you somewhere exotic and romantic,” Rae said over the phone early that afternoon.
Rylann was in her office, talking with the door shut while eating lunch. Naturally, she’d told Rae all about her big date.
For a brief moment, it struck Rylann how surreal it was that a private jet was even a possibility. Sure, she’d seen the penthouse and the two-thousand-dollar suits, but for the most part she didn’t think about Kyle’s money. Frankly, since they’d spent the majority of their time as a couple inside her apartment, the fact that he had millions of dollars, and would one day inherit a half-billion more, hadn’t mattered all that much.
But now that she was thinking about it…
Wow, that was a shitload of money.
“I’m guessing no on the private jet,” she told Rae. “Airplane travel requires security clearances and passenger lists. We’re going incognito on this.”
“Lists, schmists,” Rae said dismissively. “Rich guys do these things on the sly all the time. You think they fly coach on United with their mistresses?”
“Hey. Am I the mistress in this situation?”
“No, just the lucky bitch who has a hot billionaire heir whisking her off someplace secret tonight. Oh, wait—did I say that out loud again?” Rae chuckled. “So what are you wearing?”
That had been a particular challenge, seeing how a certain somebody had given her zero hints about where they were going. Rylann had decided to keep it simple. “A black wraparound dress and heels. If he takes me white-water rafting or cow wrangling, I’m screwed.”
Rae laughed. “Oh, please let it be the cow wrangling! I can just see you, riding horseback in your heels and twirling a rope over your head, while on your cell phone threatening to subpoena somebody.”
“If it’s the cow wrangling, this will be my first—and last—date with Kyle Rhodes.”
“Please. One flash of those dimples and I bet that man could talk you into just about anything.”
And the scary thing was, Rylann was beginning to suspect that might actually be true.
PER THE “INSTRUCTIONS” Rylann had received via text message earlier, at four thirty she walked out the revolving door of the Federal Building, briefcase over her shoulder, and began heading north.
Her cell phone rang just as she hit the first intersection. “Okay, Dimples,” she answered. “Now what?”
Kyle’s voice was whiskey-rich in her ear. “Walk two blocks to Monroe and turn left. There’s an alley behind Italian Village—you’ll see me there.”
“Whatever this is, you get bonus points for making it very cloak-and-daggerish,” she said, dodging a pothole in her heels as she crossed the street.
“Never met an ex-con in a strange alley before, Ms. Pierce?” he teased.
Indeed, she had not. After hanging up, Rylann walked the two blocks and then crossed the street. She spotted the restaurant, Italian Village, and headed to the alley. When she turned the corner, she slowed her step at the sight before her eyes.
An elegant black limousine waited for her.
A driver stood at the rear right-side door and nodded as she approached. “Good afternoon, miss.” He gallantly opened the door for her.
“Thank you.” Rylann bent her head and saw Kyle sitting inside, wearing jeans and a white button-down shirt casually rolled up around his forearms.
He gestured to the windows. “Tinted, for privacy. And you don’t need to worry about the driver; he’s worked with my family for years. So your secret is safe.” He held out his hand. “Shall we?”
With a smile, Rylann took his hand. She climbed in, slid across the seat, and set her briefcase on the floor by her feet. “Come on. Now can you tell me where we’re going?” She buckled her seat belt as the limo began to move.
Kyle stretched his long legs out in front of him. “I don’t know. I like keeping you guessing like this.”
“I hope I’m at least dressed okay.”
His eyes slowly traveled over her, taking in the V of her dress and her bare, crossed legs. “A helluva lot more than okay, counselor.”
Her body went warm from the look in his eyes. “No cow wrangling, then.”
The edges of his mouth twitched. “You? I’d pay a half-billion dollars to see that.” He put his hand on her knee, caressing her skin lightly with his fingers. “So about tonight…I’ve been wondering if this is one of those ideas that sounds better in my head than it is in actual execution. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”
“If that’s the case, I promise I’ll fake excitement so well you’ll never know the difference.”
“I appreciate that. Okay, here’s the deal: you probably don’t realize this, but exactly nine years ago on this very day, May 16, I spotted a certain dark-haired, sassy, first-year law student across a crowded bar. Seeing how it’s our anniversary, of sorts, I thought we should go back to the proverbial scene of the crime.”
Either way, with a sleepy smile, she laid her head back down on his chest. “Yes.”
Thirty
RYLANN SPENT MOST of the following day reviewing the ATF investigation reports in a new case she’d just picked up—eleven guys in a suburb selling illegal firearms out of a warehouse, yes, yes, very bad stuff—while secretly trying not to wonder where Kyle planned to take her that evening. He’d been very mysterious about his plans, which seemed to be his modus operandi, the only hint being when he’d asked if she could leave work at four thirty.
“Ooh…I bet he’s whisking you off on a private jet, taking you somewhere exotic and romantic,” Rae said over the phone early that afternoon.
Rylann was in her office, talking with the door shut while eating lunch. Naturally, she’d told Rae all about her big date.
For a brief moment, it struck Rylann how surreal it was that a private jet was even a possibility. Sure, she’d seen the penthouse and the two-thousand-dollar suits, but for the most part she didn’t think about Kyle’s money. Frankly, since they’d spent the majority of their time as a couple inside her apartment, the fact that he had millions of dollars, and would one day inherit a half-billion more, hadn’t mattered all that much.
But now that she was thinking about it…
Wow, that was a shitload of money.
“I’m guessing no on the private jet,” she told Rae. “Airplane travel requires security clearances and passenger lists. We’re going incognito on this.”
“Lists, schmists,” Rae said dismissively. “Rich guys do these things on the sly all the time. You think they fly coach on United with their mistresses?”
“Hey. Am I the mistress in this situation?”
“No, just the lucky bitch who has a hot billionaire heir whisking her off someplace secret tonight. Oh, wait—did I say that out loud again?” Rae chuckled. “So what are you wearing?”
That had been a particular challenge, seeing how a certain somebody had given her zero hints about where they were going. Rylann had decided to keep it simple. “A black wraparound dress and heels. If he takes me white-water rafting or cow wrangling, I’m screwed.”
Rae laughed. “Oh, please let it be the cow wrangling! I can just see you, riding horseback in your heels and twirling a rope over your head, while on your cell phone threatening to subpoena somebody.”
“If it’s the cow wrangling, this will be my first—and last—date with Kyle Rhodes.”
“Please. One flash of those dimples and I bet that man could talk you into just about anything.”
And the scary thing was, Rylann was beginning to suspect that might actually be true.
PER THE “INSTRUCTIONS” Rylann had received via text message earlier, at four thirty she walked out the revolving door of the Federal Building, briefcase over her shoulder, and began heading north.
Her cell phone rang just as she hit the first intersection. “Okay, Dimples,” she answered. “Now what?”
Kyle’s voice was whiskey-rich in her ear. “Walk two blocks to Monroe and turn left. There’s an alley behind Italian Village—you’ll see me there.”
“Whatever this is, you get bonus points for making it very cloak-and-daggerish,” she said, dodging a pothole in her heels as she crossed the street.
“Never met an ex-con in a strange alley before, Ms. Pierce?” he teased.
Indeed, she had not. After hanging up, Rylann walked the two blocks and then crossed the street. She spotted the restaurant, Italian Village, and headed to the alley. When she turned the corner, she slowed her step at the sight before her eyes.
An elegant black limousine waited for her.
A driver stood at the rear right-side door and nodded as she approached. “Good afternoon, miss.” He gallantly opened the door for her.
“Thank you.” Rylann bent her head and saw Kyle sitting inside, wearing jeans and a white button-down shirt casually rolled up around his forearms.
He gestured to the windows. “Tinted, for privacy. And you don’t need to worry about the driver; he’s worked with my family for years. So your secret is safe.” He held out his hand. “Shall we?”
With a smile, Rylann took his hand. She climbed in, slid across the seat, and set her briefcase on the floor by her feet. “Come on. Now can you tell me where we’re going?” She buckled her seat belt as the limo began to move.
Kyle stretched his long legs out in front of him. “I don’t know. I like keeping you guessing like this.”
“I hope I’m at least dressed okay.”
His eyes slowly traveled over her, taking in the V of her dress and her bare, crossed legs. “A helluva lot more than okay, counselor.”
Her body went warm from the look in his eyes. “No cow wrangling, then.”
The edges of his mouth twitched. “You? I’d pay a half-billion dollars to see that.” He put his hand on her knee, caressing her skin lightly with his fingers. “So about tonight…I’ve been wondering if this is one of those ideas that sounds better in my head than it is in actual execution. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”
“If that’s the case, I promise I’ll fake excitement so well you’ll never know the difference.”
“I appreciate that. Okay, here’s the deal: you probably don’t realize this, but exactly nine years ago on this very day, May 16, I spotted a certain dark-haired, sassy, first-year law student across a crowded bar. Seeing how it’s our anniversary, of sorts, I thought we should go back to the proverbial scene of the crime.”
