Silent Desires. Julie Kenner

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      In that moment, he’d been certain. He wanted to see this woman again, and he was thrilled that his earlier plans for the evening had been cancelled. He’d been invited by one of his model friends to attend the opening of a gallery, a high-profile fund-raiser. He’d been happy to do it. Going out with Suki was always relaxing. They’d been friends for years, but weren’t the least bit attracted to each other despite the rampant rumors in the press.

      Originally, he’d been disappointed when she’d called to tell him the benefit had been postponed. Now, though, he was glad for the cancellation. It meant that his calendar was open. A rare thing, and extremely fortuitous, especially considering how much he wanted to spend the evening with Joan Benetti.

      Unfortunately, she seemed less than enthusiastic about a date. Too bad. He’d sensed a chemistry between them that he didn’t want to believe was one-sided. But she’d hesitated, and Bryce had turned to more creative methods to get her to go out with him. Well, what the hell? Best case, he’d have the woman in his arms. Worst case, he’d end up owning a few first editions. Either way, he certainly couldn’t complain.

      After all, the erotica on the table had been intriguing, to say the least. His body tightened merely from the memory, and he shook his head with wonder. Potent stuff.

      Erotica had never been in his field of interest, but Bryce hadn’t gotten where he was by turning away from new experiences. From what he could tell, Joan seemed to be an expert on the subject. And maybe, if fate was kind, Bryce could talk her into giving him a few lessons on the subject. He could hope, anyway.

      And if the lessons were hands on, well, that would be all the better.

      3

      FIVE YEARS. He’d been without his beloved Emily for five long, lonely years.

      A lump filled Clive’s throat, just like it always did when he thought of her. His sweet Emily. So precious, so innocent.

      She hadn’t deserved to die.

      Even now he could remember how she’d looked on their wedding day, her brown eyes so full of life, her near-black hair in stark contrast to the pure white of her dress.

      His Emily. His love.

      Slowly, Clive bent down and pulled the battered suitcase out from under the bed. He couldn’t help but notice the carpet, worn and stained with God-only-knows-what. This was what he’d been reduced to, living in pathetic fleabag motel rooms that could be rented by the hour and had probably never even seen disinfectant. But it was necessary. The motels he’d chosen for the long drive from California to Jersey were cheap. That meant the clerks didn’t even blink when you paid in cash, and they couldn’t care less who was renting the room. That’s what Clive wanted. To be invisible. He’d need to be invisible if he was going to make this work.

      Slowly, almost reverentially, he snapped the latches on the case and lifted the lid. He pulled out the flannel pajamas he’d used as lining and there, under the dark green material, he saw them—the shotgun and handgun he’d purchased specifically for this project.

      He drew in a breath, anticipation mixing with nerves as the time drew near.

      Soon, very soon, that son-of-a-bitch Bryce Worthington was going to pay.

      “BRYCE WORTHINGTON? You’re going out tonight with the Bryce Worthington?”

      Joan squinted at Kathy as the younger girl brandished the pencil in her hand as if she was going to skewer Joan for not understanding the full impact of the date with Bryce. “Um, I guess so,” Joan said. “I’m going out with a Bryce Worthington. Who is he?”

      “You don’t know?” Kathy shook her head in amazement. She was eighteen, a freshman majoring in English lit, and had recently been hired to work part-time in the store. Until today, she’d been in awe over the Dickens serials that Ronnie kept locked in the second-floor vault. Now, though, she’d transferred her enthusiasm to Joan’s date. “You really don’t know?”

      Joan sighed. “I really don’t know.”

      Kathy performed an exaggerated eye roll while exhaling, conveying the impression of being both disbelieving and put-upon. “He’s like a bazillionaire. This self-made Texas businessman. And he’s single. All those bachelor-type television shows have been trying to get him to go on, but he flat-out refused them.”

      Good for Bryce, Joan thought, her estimation rising a notch. She’d liked Bryce instantly and had had an instinctual feeling that he was a man with whom she’d get along great. Even after all of Kathy’s oohing and aahing, she still wasn’t sure she could place Bryce in the social hierarchy. The way Kathy talked, he fit somewhere between God and Ben Affleck. Big news, indeed.

      “You’ve really never heard of him?” Kathy repeated, apparently unable to believe that Joan lived under a rock.

      “Really,” Joan said, more defiantly. She’d never paid a whole lot of attention to that rich celebrity stuff. She would happily follow the careers of musicians, actors and authors she liked. Even politicians, whether she liked them or not. But she did not follow the careers of big-shot businessmen.

      Kathy just frowned, shaking her head a little.

      “What?” Joan asked, sure the freshman was about to deliver a lecture about staying up on current events, though Joan was willing to debate whether Bryce’s eligibility really was newsworthy. Especially since, as much as Joan might fantasize about a fabulously wealthy knight taking her away from all this, her odds of winning the Powerball lottery were significantly better than winning the heart of Bryce Worthington or any other man with a well-stuffed bank account. That was just too much like some unrealistic fairy tale.

      “I just don’t want to see you hurt,” Kathy said. She wore no makeup, her fuchsia hair was pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, and she wore tight blue jeans with an equally tight tank top under a loose pink blouse. Even so, the impression she conveyed right now was matronly.

      Joan ran her fingers through her hair, as annoyed as she would be if it were her mother giving her the third degree about a date. “There’s no way I can get hurt, Kathy. It’s not a date. I’m just meeting him to deliver some first editions. Purely business.” That was her plan, and Joan didn’t intend to veer from it.

      “Uh-huh,” Kathy said, clearly not convinced.

      Joan rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. We’re just having dinner. Grown-ups are allowed to have dinner without having sex and dating and all that attached to it.”

      Kathy’s eyes narrowed. “Where are you having dinner?”

      “Talon,” Joan announced, still reveling in what she considered a dining coup.

      “Uh-huh,” Kathy said, a mysterious edge to her voice.

      Joan frowned. “What?”

      “He’s staying in the penthouse. He probably plans to ply you with wine and then take you up his private elevator for a quick tumble.”

      Joan certainly hoped not, because if that was his plan, she could already feel her resolve slipping away. “How do you know where he’s staying?”

      “Angela,” she said, referring to her sister. For a second, Joan was confused. Then she remembered СКАЧАТЬ