Biker Billionaire #3: Riding the Heir by Jasinda Wilder

Author:Jasinda Wilder
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-09-24T21:00:00+00:00

* * *

I clutched Shane's hand so hard my knuckles turned white.

We'd flown back to Detroit the next day in the Sorrenson's private jet, and we were now in a rented limo, Gerald driving, sitting in front of John's house. What had been my house. John was inside; I could see him at the window, watching.

"I'll go in with you, if you want," Shane said. "You know, present him with a united front."

I shook my head. "No. I'll be fine."

I leaned in and kissed him, deep, passionate. Desire flared, and for a moment I considered letting things flare, right there in the back of the limo, just to get out of having to see John. Shane pulled away, making the decision for me.

"Later," he said, his voice a promise of passion in my ear. "Get this done and come back to me."

I opened the door and slid out. As I did, I glanced back at Shane. A flash of something like worry, or jealousy glinted in his eyes, then was buried. I smiled at him, shut the door, and made my way to the front door. I realized as I rang the bell that he was worried not just for me, but that I'd somehow decide to go back to John. I wished I'd taken a moment to reassure him I wouldn't, but it was too late.

John opened the door and ushered me in. We stood in the foyer, awkward and tense. I could tell John wasn't sure if he should hug me or shake my hand. I didn't want to touch him, but I settled for a brief, awkward hug, done from a foot away, two pats on his back and then pulling away. He didn't want to let go.

I stepped into the living room, feeling a pang of something sharp in my chest. Nothing had changed. The couch we'd bought together, in the same spot. Our TV, our his and hers recliners, all the artwork I'd picked out at the Ann Arbor Art Fair, all the pictures of us together. He hadn't taken anything down, hadn't changed anything. As I moved hesitantly into the living room, I could see down the hallway to the master bedroom, and I could tell he hadn't changed anything in there either. Same comforter and duvet, same pictures in the same picture frames: me and John on a sailboat on a vacation to the Virgin Islands, us at his cousin's wedding, a grainy photo we'd taken from my phone at a bar barely a month before I'd jumped out of his car.

John looked at me, licked his thin, pale lips. "Can I get you anything, Leo? Coffee? Tea?"

I stifled a sigh. I'd never drank tea in all the time he'd known me. "No, thanks, I'm fine."

"So...thanks for coming," John said, sitting in his recliner, the larger, darker one. "I would have met you somewhere, but since this is the only time you could meet me, and I have plans in a few minutes..."

I sat on the edge of the couch, clutching my purse.

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