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“To make it public. And I took it.”
“You’re lucky you’re still alive,” she said. “Drea’s a freak about following the rules…well, at least following her rules. The biggest one being her private life always stays private.”
“That would explain the whole cut-off-your-nuts thing.” She’d made the threat in the same breath as she’d blinked the passion out of her ebony eyes.
Sylvie laughed. “God, I love her.”
He gave her the smile all his dates’ mothers had loved. Half total charmer, half boy scout, all pretender. “And you love me.”
She snorted. “Like the flu when I’m looking for an excuse to binge-watch a show on Netflix.”
“Nice try. I know better.”
“I know where this is going,” she said.
Of course she did. So did everyone. He’d been making a play for Drea since the first time he’d seen her in the hospital after Sylvie’s stalker had gone completely off the rails. He wasn’t ready to have seen the last of Drea, let alone never let anyone know that he’d finally sealed the deal—he wasn’t a total asshole, but he was still a dude.
“I do love you…” Sylvie paused, as if searching for a way to ease the knife into his back. “You’re a great guy. There’s a lot more to you than you let people see, but Drea isn’t the kind of girl who’s good being seen as your flavor of the week.”
After the way he’d grown up, he was so familiar with rejection and disapproval it barely made a dent in his outer shell. Usually. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets to keep from tossing them up in the air in frustration. “Being with me didn’t seem to bother her if no one knew, so why is people knowing such a big deal?”
“She has her reasons.”
“Those being?” Damn it. He wanted some fucking answers. It wasn’t like he was a three-headed troll. He paced in front of the television.
Everything about Sylvie, from her posture to her voice, softened. “Why’s it so important to you? It’s not like you’re hard up for dates.”
He had no fucking clue. Maybe it was the challenge. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t just some chick but that he’d actually gotten to know more than her first name before they hit the sheets. Maybe it was more. All he knew was he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head for the past year, and that was a first for him. He’d figured
having her in his bed would end the craving, but it hadn’t. He still wanted her.
Sylvie glanced over his shoulder at the TV. “What the hell?” She grabbed the remote and raised the TV’s volume.
A reporter stood in front of a large brownstone. “I’m coming to you live from the corner of Fifth and Wapol where police are investigating the sudden death of one of Harbor City’s richest women.”
Crap, and there was Drea, standing in the background with a uniformed cop by her side. She looked beyond pissed, and the cop wasn’t particularly happy either.
A breaking news banner took up the bottom third of the screen: POLICE INVESTIGATE SOCIALITE’S DEATH. FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED.
And Drea was being questioned. At least that’s how it looked on the screen.
Cam’s gut clenched. “Oh fuck.”
“You said it.” Sylvie grabbed her phone and shot off a quick text. “Can you tell Tony what happened? I have to get to Harbor City.”
“You stay here.” He was halfway to the door before he even realized where he was going. “I’ll get Drea.”
“No way.” Sylvie’s voice had a determined edge that meant nothing but trouble.
He stopped, one hand on the door handle, and turned to Sylvia. She was a great friend, both to him and Drea, but the police would never take a fashion blogger like her seriously at a crime scene.
Him on the other hand? He was six-feet, five-inches of solid paramilitary muscle. There weren’t a lot of people in the world who didn’t make way for him. And when it came to Drea, there wasn’t a single person he wouldn’t tear apart if that’s what it took to help her. He didn’t have time to analyze why, it just was.
He swiped his motorcycle helmet off the table and yanked the front door open. “I have connections on the force. People owe me favors. I’ll be able to get past the yellow tape. You won’t.”
He was out the door before the last word even left his mouth.
The trip across the Waterburg Bridge to the heart of Harbor City’s most expensive zip code should have taken forty-five minutes. Cam made it in half that, thanks to his Victory Jackpot motorcycle’s speed and agility.
